An Agreement's Small Print
by Lisa Jane
Summary: When Jasmine accepts Jafar's proposal in order to save Aladdin, neither had considered the small details that need to be ironed out, or had even expected them to occur... COMPLETE
1. Games

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_Disclaimer: All characters that you recognise are from Aladdin. Everyone else belongs to me._

**Chapter One**

It was hard to believe that it had only been three short months since their conversation. Since he'd had corned her into an unused room in the palace, his large but thin hands splayed out on the wall beside her head. His eyes had glared darkly into hers, but she had just stared back at him, defiant.

"Stop playing these games with me." It had been an order, not a request, and his voice had curled dangerously at the end of each word.

She had played dumb. "What games?"

His teeth clenched together, and he spat out the words now. "You know what games. Either stop playing or – "

Her laughter cut him off. "Or else what, Jafar? What could you possibly do to me?"

Jafar's hand clenched, the one closest to her pretty face. He held it in mid-air for a moment, a moment in which her laughter fell silent as both wondered if he was going to punch the wall or her. But then he let his arm drop, and she stepped away from him and across the room to the doorway, letting her hips sway slightly under her shimmering pants. She never looked back once at him, but could feel his eyes burning into her back.

And now, after being thrown across the chamber and into the hourglass, the sand sprinkling lightly on her head, Princess Jasmine had been given her answer. What he could possibly to do her, indeed.

They had been playing their power games for years. Most children would bully their parents, always trying to be one step ahead, but the Sultan wouldn't let Jasmine try to be one step ahead of him – he allowed her to be leaps and bounds ahead of him. It wasn't a challenge; it wasn't fun. It was too easy. So she bullied Jafar instead, and now it was a challenge – the step ahead was always in sight, but she could never make the jump. Jasmine received satisfaction, though; she'd known that no matter how much she irritated Jafar, how quietly furious she made him, that he could not attack back. The Sultan trusted him with blind faith, but both knew that if Jafar were to lay one figure on the Sultan's daughter, Jafar would be thrown out of the palace and most likely, beheaded.

Iago had, for once in his parrot life, offered Jasmine a serious piece of advice. To stop playing power games with the Royal Vizier because in the end, she would lose. Badly. And being the stubborn princess that she was, Jasmine refused to listen, too impressed by her own actions at manipulating the man.

Then Jasmine had turned fifteen, and the childish fun under the games had turned into a simmering, disturbing... energy. She knew it was when she'd turned fifteen, because it was then that the Sultan had brought her in suitors, suitors that couldn't stand up to her torment, her behaviour. And inside the palace there was a man who not only stood up to her, but for every notch Jasmine pushed their bickering up by, Jafar would push it up yet again, and the bickering would eventually push up to such a level that was _**inconvincible**_ to Jasmine.

Jasmine knew what the underlying energy was. It was the energy she knew she should feel towards her suitors, but never could. She never would admit it either, and just feebly hoped that the emotion would go away. And yet, she continued to challenge it.

She had hoped that her escape would make things easier, but her love for Aladdin had only gone and complicated things even more. Jasmine loved everything that he stood for, especially his freedom, and it was wonderful to love without power games and hatred fogging the emotion. And Aladdin had almost put an end to the games, indirectly – the hate for Jafar had truly burst when he'd told her that he'd killed Aladdin. The games were over, if he was killing to win.

Even if Jafar hadn't killed him then, he was truly going to now, Jasmine thought as she watched through the hour glass, trying to fight the sand quickly burying her to her throat now. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but Aladdin seemed to be shouting now and Jafar's face was becoming darker and more twisted as Aladdin carried on and digging himself further into his hole.

Attempting to stand, Jasmine slowly pulled her arms out of the sand heavily and starting banging on the glass, trying to gain Jafar's attention.

"Jafar! _Jafar!_" She was screaming his name, but her voice simply echoed around the hourglass. They couldn't hear her anymore than she could hear them, and his back was towards her.

And then Iago looked over.

Jasmine started to point Jafar furiously, desperately trying to get Iago to reach Jafar. For a moment, Iago stood still, then Jasmine watched in relative relief as he flew to Jafar's shoulder. He turned towards her, and she begun to bang on the glass louder.

And all he did was stand there, his face the ultimate picture of arrogance, with a smirk of satisfaction crossing his features.

"_Jafar, you absolute bastard!" _Jasmine fairly screamed, feeling her face flush in anger and frustration. This wasn't a game anymore, why didn't he understand that?

And why wasn't Aladdin going anywhere? She was trying to gain Jafar's attention so Aladdin could slip away, give him a chance to escape. It crushed her, to know that she needed Aladdin to leave forever, but it was better than watching him killed right in front of her. But either he was as stubborn as she was, or he was secretly stupid at times like these, because all he did was stand there.

The sand was creeping up towards her nose now; all Jasmine could smell was the sand, and she could feel it coating the inside of her mouth. She closed her eyes, Jafar smirking at her, knowing that he had won for the last time, the last thing that she saw.

And then she found herself outside the glass, breathing fresh air deeply through her nose, coughing mouthfuls of wet sand at Jafar's feet. Jasmine could hear Aladdin screaming her name, but she could hardly hear him; she was too surprised to find herself alive to care.

Jafar fell down to one knee in front of her collapsed body, and she forced herself to look up at his face. He still looked deadly and furious, but despite the anger in his eyes, Jasmine could see the slight confusion that was there when he told her to stop playing their games.

"What is it now, Princess?" he hissed, the politeness gone from his voice from when he spoke to her as she had seduced him, unwillingly and not with her heart.

Jasmine swallowed hard, as hard as she could with her throat feeling like it had been scratched to pieces. "Jafar... please..."

Please, what? Jasmine realised she hadn't thought this far ahead, as she had only wanted to get his attention long enough for Aladdin to run. And Aladdin still stood there, several metres away.

Jafar's voice lowered, so the others could not hear him, and his voice had dropped the anger in order for seriousness. "Be my Queen, and I'll let him live." At Jasmine's fallen face, he sneered. "Or do you want him, uh, gone?"

Jasmine felt her eyes water, and whether it was due to the sand or the sheer frustration of the whole situation, she wasn't sure. "No, please... anything else..."

But Jafar had already seemed to make her mind up for her, as his snake staff magically formed in his hand and raised it to her face, and when he spoke, his voice was trance-like. "You are going to marry me, Jasmine. You _will_ be mine."

Jasmine felt tired as she stared into the red eyes of the snake. The shouting of her name in the background was increasing loudly, and was now intercepted with the shouting of foul words directed to Jafar, but if Jasmine could hardly hear the noise before, she truly couldn't hear it now. All she could hear Jafar's voice echoing in her head.

"Marry you...?"

Her own conscious was pushing into her head as well now, and the conscious had seemed to split in two, both screaming at her. Most of her was crying for her to fight this, that she was to be with Aladdin, despite the fact that he might not stand a chance tonight. This mind begged her to try and understand that if she fell into Jafar's spell, there would be no way that she would come back to life as she knew it.

And yet, the other part of her mind told her to fall under the spell. This was her chance to give in to the energy under all their games, and who knew if she would get this chance again.

Jasmine felt the tears that had pooled into her eyes slip slowly down her cheeks.

"I will..."

What could Jafar do to her? Win the ultimate game.

_TBC_


	2. Confusion

**An Agreement's Small Print**

**Chapter Two**

The city of Agrabah was in complete confusion.

What had started as an exciting occasion – the annoucment of Jasmine's chosen suitor as Aladdin – had quickly turned into utter chaos. The people of the city and those inside the palace walls tended not to converse with one another except for grand speeches, and so, when Jafar had gone on too high of a happy power trip, the only thought for the people was to run. The people of Agrabah had opted to hide inside their houses and wait for normality to return.

Except after four days, normality did not seem to want to return. The palace still remained perched on the edge of a nearby mountain, with a massive hole in the ground where it had once been. The palace was now painted in shades of black and red, rather than the usual cream and blue, and the eternally grey sky above cracked with thunder, enveloping the city in darkness.

But if the city folk thought they had it bad, for the occupants of the palace, life was about to descend into a living nightmare.

The Sultan was trapped. Since the ridiculous charade of a wedding, the Sultan had been barred from leaving the palace. He had not seen his gardens, as guards now stood around the doorways leading to the outside. The guards, in turn, were not to leave the palace walls on Jafar's orders, and to block anyone (if they so dared) from attempting to approach the palace. But now the guards were just as frightened as the rest of Agrabah, and for now, they kept their mouths wisely shut – if they had ever wanted to questions Jafar's orders before, they would rather behead themselves before doing so now.

So the Sultan now spent time with his small animal toys, his face in his hand. Not even the delight of finally placing the top toy on the tower and actually having it remain there without a certain person slamming doors or driving his staff into the ground suddenly appearing and ruining all the work, could pull him out of the despair that he felt now. Perhaps he should've listened to his daughter; she hadn't wanted to be married and now look at the situation. Perhaps he also should've listened to Jafar – how was the Sultan to know that Jafar had been serious about marriage? The man had never given a second thought to marrying _anyone_ until his turban had been blasted full of hot air.

The only person the Sultan wasn't listening to now was Aladdin, only because there was nothing to listen to – the boy had spent the the last several days slouching around the palace, a look of disdain on his face. The Sultan, on one hand, could hardly blame the boy – his finacee had been snatched away from him from right under his nose, after all – but on this rare occasion, the Sultan felt an emotion that was usually only reserved for Jafar – anger. Jasmine had thrown away her happiness in order to save Aladdin's life, and Aladdin had not shown an ounce of gratefulness about this.

The only life Aladdin currently showed was when Iago was around, who had been uninvited by Jafar to wherever he and Jasmine had disappeared to. Aladdin had spent the days perfecting a death grip around Iago's neck, a death grip that according to Iago, was a good contender for Jafar's own grip. Since Iago had let slip that he'd known about Jafar's marriage plans before they had begun, Aladdin would crush his neck tighter and tighter with each sqwak of Iago's "I don't know!", to questions of where Jafar had taken the princess, or what his plans were now that he was a sorcerer. Only the Sultan's reasonable point that if Aladdin killed Iago, Iago wouldn't be able to provide any answers at all, had stopped Aladdin from attempting to murder the bird.

The Sultan sighed, and this breath knocked over the top toy on the tower, which caused the whole tower to fall apart immediately. The Sultan hoped that Aladdin would cheer up soon, or at least, once Jafar decided to let people come and go from the palace, which, given Jafar being rather unprectiable as of late, could be the following day or in several years time. But perhaps Aladdin would cheer up on the safe and sound return of Jasmine instead.

They could both only hope that Jasmine would actually return safe and sound, the Sultan realised with a heavy heart, and that she wouldn't return inside a box or an urn. Given Jafar's murderous temper and unstable tendencies, each scenario was just as likely as the other.

*

The world was turned sideways when Jasmine awoke. Her eyelids were heavy and she felt as if she'd been awake for days, but fast asleep all the while. Through her hazy sight, she could see the corner of a bed and the side of a table, but both tipped at angles that she vaguely realised were incorrect.

It was several minutes before she realised that it was her that was sideways, and not the world.

Jasmine closed her eyes, wanting to drift back to the darkness that she'd been floating in before. The cold and hard compress of the stone floor pressed into her cheek, refreshing against the heat of her body, and she could nearly see the candlelight flickering through the room. The light smell of burning insence drifted towards her nose, and she knew she was all alone in her comfort – the only sound she could hear was the deep, raggered flow of her own breathing.

Holding herself tightly in her trance, Jasmine couldn't decipher what day it was; she was surprised in herself that she had managed to remember her own name. The only memories she now held were ones that seemed to be bizarre dreams, but she slowly roused herself enough to realise that she did not recognise this room.

With that, she opened her eyes and slowly rose up into a sitting position, and every muscle in her body shook with pain, especially those more centered towards the pit of her stomach. But it was a highly unusual pain – it felt more pleasureable than sore, a sensation that Jasmine thought she hadn't experienced before.

Jasmine stared around the room tiredly. Yes, this room was not familiar to her at all. A large bed rested some feet away from her, with sheets of the darkest black flung over it. Here and there, small tables stood, some baring candles, some cradling bowl of fruits and pitchers of water, and one holding an unusual lamp. The walls and floor were smooth, flowing cream, only broken by a closed door directly across the room from her, a thin strip of light underneath.

The room was quite pretty to Jasmine, and much to her liking. But despite this, a frown ceased into her forehead – she could not remember how she had come here, or why she was here, or with whom. She had the strongest feeling that a lot of time had passed, and yet she hadn't been anywhere that she remembered experiencing.

All Jasmine had were the dreams.

Dreams in which she found herself in a stunning red and gold gown, her hair swept back from the side of her head with ornate clips, heavy kehal outlining her eyes. Her lips were painted in deep crimson, and the lighest of slippers held her feet. She imagined herself to be beautiful, but with a closed, numbed look on her face. In her dream, she drifted across a marble floor, with ghostlike steps, towards the three men in front of her. One horrified, one seemingly depressed, and the last with a look of such twisted satisfaction that she wanted to draw back her hand and slap the smirk off his lips.

Dreams in which she was riding on horseback, across the desert, under a midnight sky. She'd sat sideways at the front of the horse, sheltered from the wind under a cloak and pressed tightly against someone else. She'd watched the little sprinkles of sand fly along under her feet, until a warm hand had brushed over her eyes and shut them gently.

Then there was the dreams, where she wasn't sure if she ought to feel disgusted or ecstatic about. Jasmine sensed these dreams more than felt them; she sensed a great warmth spreading through her body, her head becoming lighter as felt herself pulled towards bright, white lights, then sudden explosions of euphoria before crashing back into the dark. Jasmine felt strangely guilty about these dreams, though in her current state of awakeness, she couldn't put her finger on why.

Then a shiver of breeze drifted though the window above her head, and Jasmine felt a chill shudder down her back. She twilted her head back to see rolling clouds of purple and pink in the sky outside, and with great effort, she pulled herself up to her knees to look outside.

Again, Jasmine didn't recongise what she saw, but all the same, the sight stunned her. Sandy builldings piled against one another, leaning and supporting each other, echoing on for many miles. The sky's twilight colours did not help her try to work out the time, it could've been either dawn or dusk, and shadows cast across the buildings in great triangles, arching away from where she stood. It was a beautiful sight, but the only thing that Jasmine wondered was a vague thought of, this wasn't hers.

" ' mine..."

Jasmine turned quickly at the slow drawl of a voice from behind her. Lost in her single thought, she hadn't heard the door open, nor had she heard the stepping of the man in black into the room. She watched the man watching her in interest, desperate to put a name to the face but drawing blanks. The only sensation she felt was her quick, fearful step back towards the wall, fear that she couldn't quite place.

Jafar regarded his new bride backing away from him in pale amusement, and underneath that, concern. Jasmine looked awfully pretty in the light, red negilgee that he had created for her, with a high slit up to her hip, and her dark hair suited her much better as a waterfall down her back, rather than kept in a child-like ponytail. She looked like a doll, _his _doll.

But her face was all wrong. There was no fire in her eyes anymore, just an uncertain stare, and she was looking at him like she'd never seen him before, let alone know who he was. When Jasmine spoke, it was with a dull, monotonic voice, with no enthuansism of any kind. He may as well have married a puppet.

This, all in all, wasn't necessarily a bad thing right now, Jafar thought with a twisted smile. Under his hypnotisim, Jasmine was obeying every command of his – _every_ command, commands in which as normal Jasmine, she would've attempted to murder him for even considering. But Jafar had a feeling that he would grow bored of this game, because underneath her bratty, stubborn, childish behaviour, he liked the fire that burned there, fire that mixed with both hatred and passion sent directly towards him (fire that the little street urchin couldn't have faced even if his life depended on it). But under his spell, the fire had flickered and died away, leaving a fade of Jasmine in its place.

Jafar knew that the only way to get this fire back was to lift his spell. But with the fire would come an entire ship of emotions that were also being snuffed out right now, and Jafar had no wanting to deal with those for the time being.

The pair stared at each other across the room for what seemed like hours, measuring each other up, as Jasmine desperately tried to remember who he was. She decided that at this point, did it truly matter, so as Jafar lifted his staff and she was captured by the snake's glowing eyes, drifting back off to the darkness, Jasmine simply did what she always did when she met someone knew – she smiled at him.

* * *

_TBC... _


	3. Reality

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: Please don't expect regular weekly or so chapters from me, these chapters get written once I finally get my ideas into place! But now I've sorted out some sort of plot, which is always excellent._

_Thanks to my lovely reviewers, you guys make me feel like this story is actually good and is not just my rambling! _

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Above the heavy dark clouds of the city, the sun rose at dawn across the lands of Arabia. In several cities, several rulers had noticed the gloom surrounding Agrabah, but had opted to slip into the sancutary of their palaces, focus on their little slice of the pie. Rulers of Arabia tended not to meddle into other rulers' terrorities, and by the look of the city now, no one would've entered Agrabah even if they wanted to.

The lone horse galloped towards Agrabah, however; on it, two figures. Sand flew around the horse's hooves, but the people were high on the horse's back and out of the harm of nature. As the sky slowly begun to turn from shades of navy and violet to pink and blue, the horse was spurred on faster before the people became stranded in the summer heat.

*

Like the sun ray's failing attempts to crack into Agrabah, the few positives were failing to get through the depression that surronded Aladdin. He shuffled his feet through the palace corridors towards the dining room, where he knew breakfast would be ready, food to sustain him through another suicidual day. He knew he was about to be booted out into the streets of Agrabah again, and the only one who had kept him in the palace had gone away.

Jafar had taken the liberaty of transforming Abu and the carpet back to their normal selves before he'd left, but the two companions were of little comfort to Aladdin; the carpet had left its energy behind when it realised that it too was trapped by the invisible dome around the palace, and after vague attempts to cheer his owner up, Abu had collasped inside a fruit bowl and had taken to bananas for comfort food.

What Aladdin needed now was the Genie, but Jafar's sympathies had reached their tiny limit and Jafar had taken the lamp away with him, as well as taking the time to transform Aladdin back into his beggar's clothing.

And he needed Jasmine.

His chest hurt – it felt as if his heart had turned to stone and along had come the pik to snap off another silver of rock, as it always did when Aladdin's thoughts turned to Jasmine now. Damn Allah, it was _him _who Jasmine should've been walking down that aisle towards, with a smile on her face rather than a blank expression, it was _them_ who should be away right now, enjoying themselves; instead, it was her and that two-faced, arrogant, snake of a man, who Jasmine had simply followed out of the palace several days ago. Aladdin was quite sure that Jafar was enjoying himself...

Aladdin's blood boiled at the very idea, and he desperately tried to move his thoughts away to something else, anything else, before he burst into flames of fury.

It simply wasn't fair; it had all been Aladdin's reach, this castle of treasure and love and paradise, and then a giant bony hand had reached down from the universe, taken hold of Aladdin's castle and crushed it, allowing the sand to run through his fingers, allowing Aladdin to watch his dreams float away.

Perhaps this was just his punishment. Pretending to be someone he wasn't had been a great rise for Aladdin; with every great rise came a horrific fall.

But before Aladdin could collaspe into his depression, he had a voice. A voice of angels that spoke lightly, a voice he recongised, but one that usually had emotion attached. She was home, at his home, at least, and Aladdin begun to run in earnest now towards the dining room.

"Jasmine!" Aladdin shouted, his voice bouncing off walls as he ran into the final room. "Jasmine..."

Aladdin trailed off as he looked at the figures at the other end of the long table. Jafar sat calmly at the head of the table, placing his fork carefully down on his plate while studying the boy, his lips twisted into an arrogant smile and his opiated eyes seemingly trying to challenge him. To his left sat the Sultan, looking rather sad and lost without his ruling robes, who gazed at Aladdin with pity and stood to greet him.

But to Jafar's right sat perfection.

Jasmine looked at Aladdin in surprise, her chocolate eyes wide but blank. Aladdin's stone heart now shattered into a million pieces at her beauty – her long black hair tumbling in a soft wavy ponytail, her body clad in red garments. A gold tiara sat slightly on top of her head, and a thin band of matching gold with rubies laced around a finger. A goddess, but not his goddess.

Aladdin forced himself to stare back at Jafar, the longing being replaced with sheer anger on his face. This man did not deserve such a goddess, Aladdin thought, as Jafar's smile grew more satisfied and he placed his skeletal hand over Jasmine's youthful one. "Wadi!" Jafar suddenly spoke up, glaring at the Sultan. "Do come and invite the boy to sit with us, would you?"

But before the Sultan could speak, Aladdin was walking along the length of the table towards the Princess - no, the Queen, now - to greet her ,and Jasmine's beautiful neck slowly craned up as he walked closer, her eyes looking at him with what nearly seemed to be... curiosity?

And then unexpectedly, she smiled at him. "Hello."

Aladdin couldn't stop himself. He flung his arms around Jasmine, clutching her close to his chest, breathing in her scent of spicy and sweetness combined into one intoxicating perfume. But he only had second to relish this, and he quickly stepped away as he had felt Jasmine's body tense up. Her face was now covered in a veil of confusion and bewildement, and of all people, she turned to Jafar for comfort.

"Jafar, who is...?"

Aladdin's brain scambled to understand Jasmine's trailed question as Jafar leant close to the group, and he could nearly smell the sneer on the older man's breath. "This, my dear, is a little boy; is a disgusting street rat out of depth, who weasled his way into this palace, thinking he could take marry you and have you all for himself." Jafar spoke the last three words with a snap in his voice, cruelly studying Aladdin, awaiting a reaction, as Jasmine flushed lightly and suddenly became overally interested in everything but Aladdin.

The Sultan watched as the heavy cloud of sadness settled in over Aladdin's face, and smiled sadly and sympathetically. "She doesn't remember anyone, Aladdin; please don't be offended. She'll remember you when our sorcerer here breaks the hypnotism spell."

Aladdin felt sick. The eleation he had originally felt at hearing Jasmine's voice had truly disappeared now, and he wanted nothing more than be far, far away from all three people, and to wake up from this nightmare. Thinking that he could get something to eat from kitchens, Aladdin turned away slowly, and began to walk towards the door.

"Aladdin!"

He didn't want to turn at Jafar's voice, didn't want to look at the man ever again, but curiosity forced him to face him.

Jafar reached into his robes and pulled out the Genie's lamp, as black as coal, and threw it lightly towards Aladdin. Aladdin caught it and as he held it, the lamp turned back into it's usual golden colour. He could hardly hear Jafar's voice as he turned the lamp around in his hands. "It's yours now; I don't need my third wish, I have everything I need right here. So you... go play with your little friends."

*

"So, when are you going to kill her?"

Iago danced away on Jafar's shoulder, excited about the idea, excited about putting the last piece into the puzzle. He'd delivered the plan to Aladdin in fear of his own life, but now the master was back, and it was playtime.

Or at least it would be, when Jafar showed any acknowledgement that Iago was speaking to him.

Jafar sat along the windowsill of his tower, studying the courtyard below him, the way he'd been for over an hour now. With a finger absentmindely twisting his beard, he watched as Jasmine drifted around the courtyard under the spell, seemingly talking to herself and frightening Rajah out of sleep as she kissed his head without fear, before dancing off towards a nearby tree, chatting to it for a moment and then hugging it tightly. To Iago's surprise, this show prompted a rare and deep chuckle out of Jafar, and Iago needed his master back to his usual self to continue with the plan.

"Jafar!" Iago nearly all but shouted. "Our plan! To kill her! Jafar! JAF – "

Jafar turned to face the bird suddenly, anger replacing the light amusement on his face, and Iago cringed back as he felt the spit land on his head. "What is it, bird?" he nearly roared.

Iago unruffled his feathers. "Are we going through with the rest of the plan?" he questioned desperately.

His master turned to face the courtyard once more. "We're not, Iago."

The bird was crestfallen. This was all he'd looked forward to while Jafar had been away, and now it wasn't happening? "We're not?"

"No. I'm not killing her," he muttered, his voice quiet.

Iago brought breath to his next question. He knew that he should have learnt years ago when to stop asking Jafar, but sometimes, he just couldn't help himself. "Why?"

"The whys do not matter!" Jafar shouted, now frightening Iago and sending him flying across the room. "Do not question me! She is to live, and that is the end of it!"

Iago nestled down on a bookshelf, a safe distance away from Jafar. One day, he'd learn to quit when he was ahead. But the man had the split personality of an mentally ill person; sometimes it was impossible to know when he was going to snap.

Jafar turned back to watch his wife, still continuing to dance like a puppet around the courtyard. He simply didn't want to kill her now; he wasn't sure he ever had. The young girl – young woman now, he considered with a smirk – was someone who could finally hold her own ground against him, not physically in any way but mentally, someone who could challenge his mind, someone who could stand up to crazed workings of his personality. Not like the soft, toy-playing marshmallow of a Sultan, or the stupidly hyperactive bird.

But Jasmine wasn't his mental equal while hypnotised; Jafar was sure that Jasmine in her current state of mind didn't even understand what an arugment was. What was the point of marrying her for the intelligence if she was wandering around under the spell?

Jafar couldn't have his cake and eat it too, and he knew it.

The danger, of course, in lifting the spell, would be Jasmine's reaction. She was sure to be furious, and her hate for him would rise to levels neither of them would have considered. But divorce was so rarely heard of in Arabia, and Jafar was sure that despite her anger and fight, because all through their games, shimmered a different sort of lust. It would be the ultimate test.

*

Jasmine retired that night, and as she drifted off towards a dreamless sleep, the dome around the palace cracked and fell away. Jafar had slipped Jasmine a sleeping drug in her evening wine, deliberately allowing her a deep, long and comfortable rest. He knew it would be the last one for a long time.

_

* * *

_

_TBC_


	4. Mistakes

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: Question and answer time!_

_PenPusher – Not much suspense with the two people at the beginning of the previous chapter I'm afraid, just Jafar and Jasmine on their way back to Agrabah._

_Foxfire – In the movie, Iago suggests to Jafar that once he marries Jasmine, that they throw Jasmine and the Sultan off a cliff. This is the only reason why Jafar was intending to kill her, but in this story, changes his mind._

_Thanks to everyone for the reviews, they are very much appreciated!_

_And on we go:_

* * *

**Chapter Four**

The heaviness of the mid-afternoon heat awoke Jasmine from her heavy slumber. From where her head lay buried amongst a mountain of pillows, she squinted her eyes to look across the bedroom and over the balcony.

The sky was blue.

Jasmine stretched before she sat up, her feet not reaching the edges of the bed that she lay in. In her surprise of the sky, it didn't occur to her that when she stretched in her own bed, her feet would hang over the edge. Sitting up, Jasmine drew the silk black sheet around her, and slowly padded across the cool floor to stand on the balcony.

She felt as if she'd slept for a century, and she rubbed her eyes tiredly. The sun was high in the sky, and Jasmine wondered how long she'd slept for today; it had to be nearly sunset, but it was so warm. The last time she'd seen the sky, it had been cloudly and dark and stormy, under Jafar's reign, but now it was back to the bright, clear sky that she had always known.

And yet, something felt... off.

Jasmine stared down at the city below the palace. From her one outing into Agrabah, she imagined the townsfolk scurrying around in their daily lives, at the market stalls, or perhaps relaxing inside their homes, shielded from the harsh weather. But she realised that after all the time she'd spent staring at the city in the past, she was now viewing it from a different angle, and the palace seemed far higher up above the people than it had always been.

And the cream of the balcony hadn't always been a dark shade of red.

Jasmine's heart stopped as she turned to face the room.

This was _not_ her chambers, Jasmine thought as she crept back into the room, back into the coolness. She didn't have such a large bed, and definitely one that wasn't covered in sheets of black. She didn't have bookcases lining her walls, with heavy volumes of books on their shelving, or plush blood-red chairs, ornated in gold. But there was her dressing table, and her long white robe hung over one of the posters of the bed.

Jasmine flung the sheet she wore back onto the bed, and slipped into the robe, hoping the small amount of familiarity would bring some comfort.

She walked silently across to the dressing table and sat down, and for a long moment, Jasmine did not recongise herself in the mirror.

The girl who stared back at her looked so tired, almost undead. Her eyes flickered lightly, as if they struggled to remain on the edge of life. Underneath them, dark shadows had set in, a mix of disturbed sleep and dark kehal. Her face seemed paler than usual, and her skin was taught over her cheekbones. Her dark hair hung limply around her shoulders, seemingly dirty and streaked with summer sweat. Jasmine picked up her fine hairbrush, but she hadn't managed to pull it through her hair once before she spotted the gold and ruby ring on her finger, smiling back at her through the mirror.

Jasmine gripped the hairbrush tighter as the world crashed down, as memories that had been lurking underneath the surface came into focus. Of course she didn't recongise this room; it wasn't as if she had ever entered Jafar's chambers before.

And seemingly, her chambers now, too.

Jasmine felt the sickness well up in her stomach, and tears pricked at her eyes, both angry and sad tears. Of course, she'd married the man. Done it to save Aladdin, who she could only hope was at least hiding back in Agrabah, or perferably in some other country; away from Jafar and the palace, so that her sacrifice would be worthwhile.

She let one tear slip down her clammy cheek. Poor Aladdin, and what about her? So close to everything she'd wanted, to perhaps escaping the palace, married to a man for love; now all she had was to remain in the palace, inside a marriage of convience. The very sort of marriage she tried to avoid for so long, to a man that Jasmine hoped that she would never have to marry.

A hope that wasn't one hundred percent believed by herself, but that small one percent had to be very small. It had to be.

Jasmine buried her face into her hands as she wondered how long she'd been under his hypnotisim for. The last proper memory she had was the sky crackling with thunder, but she felt despair when she realised that despite the sky being blue, this didn't mean that Agrabah was back in her father's hands. She might've been under the spell from any period of time from days to weeks, at least while away from the palace, in that little room with candles, being intimate...

She struggled with hysteria to keep the sickness in her stomach. Jasmine was horrifed that her memory was so vague about this in particular, what had she done then? How could _he_? It was something she had barely registered with Aladdin, knowing it would happen but giving it no second thought. And yet, Jasmine had gone along and given it to Jafar. Jasmine's tears began to slip quietly down her face; she saw no point in holding them back any longer, not while she desperately wanted questions answered. Had he forced her and if he hadn't, why did she give it up? How many times? Did Aladdin know; if he did, what was he thinking? And why couldn't she remember it, why wouldn't her mind provide the answers?

And why was her body flushed with heat, and not due to the weather?

Surely she hadn't... enjoyed...

Before Jasmine knew what she was doing, she had thrown the hairbrushed into the mirror, watching the crack in the centre spread quickly over the reflective surface, with the speed of a spider creating its web, with a pattern in the end similar. Jasmine began to cry in earnest as she gazed at her demented image, unable to comprehend how she felt. All she wondered was how life had turned out to be so unfair.

*

The Sultan and Aladdin sat across from each other at the dining table, in near silence, which for the Sultan was unbearable. The Sultan almost hoped for someone to break it, knowing it wouldn't be Aladdin, but Jafar and Jasmine had not joined them, and the Sultan had not seen either since the day before – Jafar had said something about going for talks with a nearby city (something the Sultan had rarely done), and when he had peeked in on his daughter earlier in the today, he had found Jasmine fast asleep in bed. Not wanting to see the ghost that his daughter had become, the Sultan had decided to let Jasmine remain asleep. She was probably safer in her dreams.

Aladdin himself had also become a ghost of sorts, but rather than wanting to gently coax him out of it like the Sultan wanted to do for Jasmine, the Sultan just wanted to slap the boy into his senses.

Why in Allah's name hadn't Aladdin left yet? Jafar had let the dome fade away the previous evening, and had returned the sky to normality, as if the man had realised that the city needed to return to its usual conduct. The Sultan could only hope that Jafar would eventually break the spell over Jasmine, but it was a slim hope, seemingly too much to hope for.

But with the dome gone, Aladdin could leave freely (if anything, the Sultan thought that this might be the reason why Jafar had let the dome disappear in the first place), and yet he remained at the table, pushing his food around the plate idilly. The only thing Aladdin had to stay here for was married to another man, and the Sultan would be damned if he was going to let Aladdin drag his daughter into sin; it had always been Jasmine's choice as to who she married, and only now when it was too late, did the Sultan realise this.

Besides, he really should be gone by the time Jafar returned, otherwise the Sultan was sure that life would only become more miserable. Jafar was doing a grand job of making everyone depressed as it was.

"Father?"

The croaked voice made them both look up from their plates. Jasmine stood lost in the doorway, still wearing her robe, but her eyes were rimmed red with tears, and she appeared to struggle to keep herself standing up. The Sultan hurried to her, silently begging Aladdin to stay at the table, and caught his daughter around the waist as she slumped against him, her head on his shoulder. "Daughter, are you alright?"

Jasmine shook her head slightly, and the Sultan's heart broke at her loaded question: "Why?"

The Sultan lead Jasmine gently to the table to sit beside him, and pushed his plate of food slowly in front of her, trying to encourage her to eat something. He was relieved when Jasmine finally picked up a fork and began to eat, but it was a short-lived relief – what was the point in the spell being lifted if the ghost of Jasmine had just given him a wreck of a daughter?

He let her eat in silence. The Sultan knew from experience that to ask questions, especially with a matter like this, would only make Jasmine more upset. She would speak when she was ready.

He just didn't expect it to be quite so soon.

Jasmine seemed to notice that Aladdin was across the table at her, studying her with near excitement, but his excitement faded when he suddenly saw anger on her face. "Aladdin... why are you still here?"

The Sultan paled. He had thought that Aladdin would just have to face Jafar's wrath when he returned; he'd never taken into account that Jasmine might be furious with Aladdin as well.

Aladdin looked surprised. "For you, Princess. I've been waiting for you, so we can be together."

Jasmine didn't seem like she still wanted that; in fact, to the Sultan, she seemed even more furious about the fact that Aladdin was suggesting it. "Aladdin... " Jasmine swallowed tightly as she tried to keep her voice calm. "I gave up any chance of my happiness so you could get out of here and be safe... and you're still here..."

Aladdin's expression of surprise drifted slowly into confusion, and the Sultan sighed inwardly. The boy just didn't get it. "I thought that when you'd be back to normal, we would marry like we planned."

"What, I would be married to two men?"

"Well, you'd divorce Jafar..."

Jasmine laughed, but it was a hollow laugh that made the Sultan and Aladdin's hair stand on end. "Oh yes, and then of course my sacrifice would pay off – we'd both be killed anyway!" Jasmine suddenly frowned as she looked at her husband's empty seat. "Father, where _is _Jafar?"

"I do not know, Daughter," he replied honestly. "I have not seen him since last night; he said he would visiting neighbouring cities."

"That's good..." Jasmine muttered, her voice dull, her face giving no reflection of her thoughts. Then she sighed, and pushed her chair back, standing up. "Father, may I be excused?"

The Sultan stared up at her sadly, just wanting the innocent daughter back that he had had two weeks ago. "Of course, my love."

Jasmine offered her father the smallest of smiles, but the smile warmed the Sultan's heart anyway. But the smile had disappeared when Jasmine turned to glare at her ex-suitor. "Aladdin, just leave here before Jafar gets back, would you? For both of our sakes?"

Before Aladdin had a chance to reply, Jasmine had turned and stalked out the room without looking back, Aladdin staring bewilderedly after her and leaving the Sultan's heart back in the cold.

_

* * *

_

_TBC_


	5. Fear

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: And so the story raises to an M rating. I didn't want it to go up quite so soon, but this story seems to be taking on a mind of it's own now. Nothing too graphic, but just enough that thirteen-year-olds and under probably shouldn't read any further._

_Thanks for all the reviews – particulary PenPusher, Foxfire and and Nerio, for staying with me with each chapter! Jafar returns with this chapter, for your... enjoyment._

* * *

**Chapter Five**

As Jasmine cried herself to sleep alone that night, Aladdin threw the lamp against his wall as hard as he could, the sound of metal against marble ringing out around the room.

He had taken his last wish to set the Genie free, just like he promised he would. Despite seeing the despair that had settled in the palace under Sorcerer Jafar's rule, Genie had offered to stay with Aladdin, but the Aladdin had encouraged him to go and see the world, just as he had always wanted. Genie hadn't need to be told twice, and the carpet and Abu had opted to go along with him. By that evening, they were gone, with the Genie in silent agreement with the occupants of the palace – why on earth was Aladdin staying?

And despite himself, as he sighed and picked up the empty lamp, Aladdin wondered why, too.

It wasn't that he didn't understand Jasmine's reasons behind the whole situation, but underneath the confusion, Aladdin could feel his temper rising – how had Jasmine just assumed that he would leave, leave her alone with that sick and twisted bastard? Didn't she understand that he loved her too much to do that? And the Sultan, with the unwelcome looks beaming in Aladdin's way, what sort of father was he, not to step between this ridiculous sham of a marriage? By the sounds of it, both Jasmine and her father wanted to send Aladdin on his merry way, and pretend everything was fine.

He would gladly ask Jafar to kill him if it would mean saving Jasmine.

_Which_, Genie's voice echoed inside Aladdin's head, _is what she's done for you, and for what?_

Aladdin flopped into the pllows in the middle of the room, debating whether or not he ought to suffocate himself with one.

Where did Jasmine expect him to go? Back to his makeshift house back in the streets of Agrabah, all alone, fending for himself? And with a view to the palace, where he could only wonder in agony about the tortures his princess was suffering through, most likely never to see her again?

No, he couldn't return to Agrabah. Aladdin would have to move to another city, maybe even another country, to avoid even meeting the gaze of someone who knew what he'd left behind. But then there would be the physical distance between himself and Jasmine as well, and that idea was too unbearable to even comprehend.

Or he could stay in the palace.

Aladdin could stay in this peaceful, furnished room, and not have to worry about where to get the next meal ever again. To stay in this sheltered palace, hiding behind the palace walls, blocking him from view from the curious city onlookers. To stay in the company of his beloved, with one man who would hardly speak to him and another, who Aladdin would have to be careful about what he said, if he wanted to keep his head for another day.

And be constantly tormented by the sight of Jafar at Jasmine's side, and not himself. Aladdin was quite sure that Jafar would not give up on his relentless snide remarks, about how he had claimed the Princess, and that for all his trouble and lies, Aladdin remained with what he had had in the first place – nothing.

But the silver lining was there, gently shimmering for Aladdin though the bleakness of depression.

For Aladdin was certain that Jasmine would come to her senses before long, and realise that there was no reason to put herself through this agony. Aladdin knew that she would understand that her happiness was lying within him, and that they didn't need this palace or a grand life for them to be happy. Jasmine wanted to go and see the world, and Aladdin would let her. Jafar certainly wouldn't; Aladdin was somewhat surprised that Jafar hadn't locked her away in the dungeons while he was away.

Aladdin's breathing began to calm, and he no longer felt suicidual, pure hope lightening his heart once more. He could put up with Jafar's comments and sneers for a few weeks, at worse, a couple of months, as he would have Jasmine for an eternity of peace afterwards; Aladdin would kiss Jasmine's disturbing memories away. Aladdin would just have to be patient in the knowledge that Jasmine... that Jasmine would be his again.

*

In the dark of night, Jasmine awoke groggily within a most wonderful sensation.

It was one that she could swore she had felt before, in the deepest, locked away part of her mind. The gentle tugging at the pit of her stomach, warm and strangely tight with pressure, almost as if fingers were lightly stroking her muscles, making her body feel relaxed yet tense at the same time. Involuntarily, Jasmine felt her toes curl up around the sheets on the bed, as if trying to hold this powerful feeling inside her as long as she could, but she desperately wanted to feel the tightness disappear in her muscles, wanted these emotions to erupt.

The sudden hot breath against the skin on her body where the sensation was it's peak nearly did Jasmine in, and she groaned uncontrollably into the silent room. "Aladdin..."

His name had only just escaped her lips when Jasmine blinked her eyes in confusion – the pleasure and tightness had disappeared without a release, and the hot breath had faded away suddenly.

"Aladdin?" Questioned a dark, dangerously smooth voice, and her eyes opened wide. "I don't think so, darling."

Jasmine let out a shout of horror, and without warning, pushed her knee out in front of her as hard as she could, feeling it connect with bone. She heard the same voice swear an oath loudly and the smashing of glass, the trickling of a warm, pleasant-smelling liquid onto the floor. Jasmine pushed herself up to her knees and backed her way until her feet found the bedhead, attempting to put on a brave stance to the man in the dark in front of her.

After several moments, a flicker of fire appeared, and then the room was lit up in candlelight, and Jasmine surveyed the damage.

Jafar was slowly pulling himself up to his feet at the end of the bed, one long hand clutching his shoulder, dressed as casually as he ever did in long satin pants. He'd lit a couple of candles, out of Jasmine's reach, to replace the lamp that she had smashed on the floor. But as Jafar stood, Jasmine's eyes widened at the sight of his lean stomach, at the sight of the harsh, jagged, red scars that crossed it. They looked to be old scars, but they also appeared to be raw and as if they hadn't healed over properly. Despite the crudeness of the marks, they appeared to cause Jafar no pain as he slowly moved towards Jasmine on the bed on his knees, the slow, satisfied smirk crossing his face frightening her.

But Jasmine held her chin high and stared at him definitely, determined not to show him her fear.

With her head being held high, Jafar went to press his hand against her jaw, but instinctively, Jasmine went to bite it only to find his hand holding her chin tightly, the smirk on his face being replaced by dark anger. "Now, Jasmine," he murmured, his voice still dangerous. "This anger of yours is undesirable..."

Jasmine swallowed tightly, refusing to break eye contact. "And your anger is? What do you think you were doing?"

"What does it matter? You seemed to enjoy it."

"If I'd known you were doing it, I wouldn't have," Jasmine hissed at him, with a hatred that scared even herself. This was not a game that had that unusual attraction simmering underneath; it was a game with raw hate and power, and Jasmine wasn't sure how much of that power, if any, was hers. But then a gasp of air suddenly escaped from her mouth as Jafar sneered at her, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and yanked her down on her back under him, with speed and strength that she was sure Jafar hadn't had before he had become sorcerer.

With Jafar's knee between her legs and his hands pressed down on either side of her head, it occurred to Jasmine that in this position, the power was definitely not hers, and the chance for her to gain the power had long subsided. But despite this, she managed to retain the glare on her face, though she did not trust her voice to speak.

"I will make you enjoy it," Jafar whispered softly, still with the danger lacing his words. "And you should be grateful that I'll go easy on you; I could make it so much worse."

Jasmine stared at him unblinking for a moment, then let out a sharp laugh. "So much worse?" she questioned, ignoring the fury in Jafar's eyes. "What could you possibly do to me that's worse than what's happened, _husband_?"

She instantly regretted her question, as Jafar took hold of her knee roughly and hoistered it over his good shoulder, forcing the short gown that she wore to bunch up around her hips. Jasmine shut her eyes tightly, trying to keep in the tears that threatened to fall, trying to avoid realising the humilitating position that she was in, not wanting to see the insane smile that was sure to be crossing his face.

But shutting her eyes did not take away the feeling of his hand along the back of her thigh, carassing the smooth, tanned skin, slowly creeping further up her leg. "Jasmine, open your eyes," Jafar nearly purred, the smile evident in his voice. "Look at how pretty you are."

Stubbonly, Jasmine shook her head, her eyes still squeezed shut.

She heard him sigh softly, as she felt his fingers drift over her hip now. "What a shame; good thing you happen to be my wife, because you are too damn tempting, you little sensous witch." Then the familiar sneer returned into his voice, replacing the almost-soft tone. "I'm sure that the street urchin would pay a great deal of money right now to be in my position... if he had any money, that is..."

Jasmine felt the tears slip down her face, escaping from under her eyelashes, at the thought of Aladdin. At the thought that she'd come so close to marrying her love, perhaps sharing that love with him right now.

And she felt the tears slip down her face at the realisation that despite who she was actually with, the feeling of wanting and almost excitement was slipping into her stomach, as Jafar's fingers gently trailed down to where they had rested to begin with. She felt nauserous at how easily her body betrayed her mind.

Jafar had become quiet now, and the air felt dense and heavy around them. Jasmine drew a shaky breath. "Please... please... don't speak of Aladdin that way."

"Don't speak of Aladdin how, my love?" Jafar whispered. "To speak of him as a lowly street rat, who thought he could ever have a chance with the Princess? What a stupid little boy. And a little boy that wouldn't know the first idea of pleasuring his wife."

"And you do know?" Jasmine bit back at him, her eyes remaining closed, before she could stop herself. "I don't think you know, either; you're no better than how he would be."

"Am I?" Jafar replied, his tone sharp, and then the feeling of a white hot poker being plunged into her body made Jasmine scream in pain. Tears fell freely down her face now, and she fought to keep her eyes closed; she desperately didn't want to look now. She could feel his fingers pushing deep inside her, demanding to stay there, fighting against her muscles that weakly tried to push him back out, then further torture of his fingernails gently scraping along.

And then her breathing began to slow down, as his fingers massaged gently where his fingernails had been. Jasmine felt his fingers slowly curl, then press up inside her, making her back arch and the softest mew escape from her lips. She could feel her mind drifting off to the wonderful place it had been previously, all thoughts of Aladdin drifting away, desperately trying to become lost in the sudden emotions.

She felt lips press against her neck, under her earlobe, the gentle scratch of his goatee against her skin. Jasmine couldn't help herself; she let out a low groan as she pressed her fingers into Jafar's back. "I told you that you would enjoy it," he whispered, in raggered voice, one that she had never heard from him before.

Jasmine could feel her anger fading away, but there was still enough remaining for her to know who had forced her into this situation, no matter how nice it felt. "I... I hate you..."

"I'm sure you do."

_

* * *

_

_TBC_


	6. Reasons

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: Hoorah, another chapter (I did warn that these chapters would come out rather randomly). Entire chapter ideas got scrapped because chapter five ended on a far happier note that it was supposed to, and as such, story had to be revised. Thanks, J & J..._

_Genie probably won't come back, because a) I don't write humour all that well and b) he hasn't really got a place in this story in the wide scheme of things. As such, he got kicked out._

_And on another note, may I suggest some music to this story? I'm listening to Little Birdy (an Australian band) as I write this story, mostly their 'Big Big Love' and 'Confetti' albums. I suggest you all have a listen, as they're a great band – their albums might be on American iTunes, if not, some of their music videos are on Youtube._

_And last but not least, thanks so much to my faithful reviewers, you guys are awesome!_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Days in the palace slowly slipped into weeks, which slipped into months. The heavy heat of summer in Agrabah had drifted into a sometimes-chilly autumn, but had now entered winter, when harsh winds echoed across the sands. The days were still warm, but the evenings had now turned bitter and everyone kept indoors now.

But for Aladdin, even during the day, winter felt like the coldest of ice inside his bones. Six months on, and the hope that he had held for Jasmine to return to him was wilting quickly now, dying like a rose. Rather than become more desperate and depressed as Aladdin had expected, Jasmine only seemed to become more happier and nearly quite ncontent with the gutter that her life had rudely kicked her out into.

It wasn't that Aladdin didn't want Jasmine to be happy; he could even understand that she could be happy without him, as much as it tore him to realise this. But he didn't understand _why._

Why Jasmine seemed to smile more now, and why she wasn't trying to fight her arrogant sadist of a husband. Why sometimes she hummed to herself at breakfast, her eyes taking on an extra shade of tiredness, despite the brusies that occasionally appeared on her body – large ones snaking around her hips and waist, darker and smaller ones along the sides of her neck, and thin, long ones around her upper arms, looking suspiciously as if a particular bony hand had gripped her arm.

And why, despite her father's, Aladdin's and just about everyone else's questions and concern in the palace regarding these bruises, Jasmine would just smile a little shy smile, one that made her look like she was keeping secrets in a cosy world of her own, and just state that Jafar was a little rough sometimes; that it was nothing she couldn't handle. And the bruises would return.

Aladdin just didn't understand.

But he knew she wasn't always happy.

Like when the tear had slipped down her perfect cheek, when she'd kissed his cheek and told him to please, leave. Jasmine had taken Aladdin out into the gardens and sat with him on the stone bench around the fountain, taking his hands in hers.

"I do love you, Aladdin," she whispered gently, her eyes looking up at his, full of sorrow. He knew her words were sincere, he could hear the breaking of her crystal heart underneath them. "But this is my life now; I have accepted it, and I need you accept it as well."

Spoken like a true queen.

"I can't accept this!" Aladdin had reacted harshly, gripping her hands tightly. "I can't accept that you are happy with that snake, when we both know that we should be together."

The palest of smiles had ghosted over Jasmine's sad features. "Always a romantic," she whispered, then bowed her head, speaking to her lap. "I never said I was happy, Aladdin. Acceptance and happiness are two very diffent things – I forfeited happiness for you, what more do you want me do to?"

"To be with me!" Aladdin nearly shouted, frustrated to no end by Jasmine's refusal to leave Jafar. "I don't understand, Jas; make me understand. Why don't you just leave him, and just go after what you want?"

"I can't."

"Why?"

The tears had began to slip down the Princess' face, and Aladdin looked away, desperate to want to finish this disaster of a conversation. "This is why I need you to leave." Her voice was breaking now, shuddering with weight of emotions that Aladdin couldn't even begin to identify. "In these past few months, I have learnt that there are things we want, and sometimes we can't always have. You being here, we are just each other's constant reminder of that, and it's just making us more miserable." Then she'd reached out to him and pressed her lips softly against his face. "Please, Aladdin, leave. It's better this way."

Aladdin closed his eyes, trying to keep out the heartbreaking yet bitter sight in front of him. "Jasmine... there are so many things that you want, things that you could have with me. Love, I know you love me; you don't hold love for _him_."

"Jafar has no such emotions in his heart."

The beat of silence that followed made Aladdin frown mentally, the cold in his bones freezing his blood as he thought over Jasmine's statement, simple on the surface. "I wasn't referring to him."

"I know you weren't."

Without opening his eyes, he felt Jasmine leave him as she began to make the slow, heavy walk back to the palace, never looking back. Aladdin sat there for a long time, against the water's edge, struggling to fight back anguished tears.

*

The scalloped waves of the ceiling made it seem as if Jasmine was staring into a dark ocean. The wind from outside blew into the chambers, ripping through the transparent curtains and danced around the ceiling, sometimes catching little specks of the gold paint, glittering back at her.

But the glinters of gold weren't sharp, they were hazy, blurred circles of light. Jasmine's tears made everything blur as she lay on her back in the darkness, too exhausted to wipe them away from her cheeks. The only sounds came from Jafar's deep, near-unconscious breathing and the occasional gasp of air that Jasmine gave around the fist against her mouth.

She wanted to throw her heart into the sands, and bury it deep inside the cave of wonders that Aladdin had told her about. Let the little bugs and creatures in the desert tear it apart and leave nothing behind. She'd feel better at least, then.

Her heart was breaking someone else's, and been broken at once.

Most of her heart belonged to Aladdin, Jasmine was sure. She knew he was right – she would always be more happier with him, but outside the palace walls. They could live in his little corner of Agrabah for all she cared, as long as they were away from the palace. But how could she survive out there; she hadn't even lasted one day. Jasmine had to think in practical terms.

And she liked to think that practical terms were the only reasons why she remained married now.

The Princess knew that by the look in her father's eyes, the sorrow that swam there, that he would not be disappointed in his daughter if she were to seek a divorce; something that was nearly unheard of in Agrabah and those who did were burdened with deep shame. But what good would that do her, even if her pride and arrogance allowed for it? She'd have to leave the palace anyway, most likely leave Agrabah altogether. Jasmine would never be able to utter the word 'divorce' to Jafar, without him destroying the city searching for her, with an end that she did not believe she'd survive through.

And the city was beginning to flourish now, everyone could see that for themselves. Agrabah had come to a complete standstill under her father's rule, but now the townspeople were multiplying, coming in from all over Arabia. Jasmine wasn't entirely sure why they were coming; Jafar hadn't considered the housing that was needed for the new people, and as a result, she'd heard that more people were out on the streets. But then again, now he was gone for days at a time, speaking to rulers of distant cities (something her father had never done), and supplies of all kinds were starting to roll in. Agrabah was finally growing.

On his days away, Aladdin would continue to try to convince Jasmine to come away with him, for he would be foolish to do it under Jafar's glare. But Jasmine believed that Aladdin was playing a losing game – she had to get him out of the palace for both their sanity, no matter how much it hurt. She'd tried to be angry, and she'd tried to be upset. But nothing was working, and she needed Aladdin to leave under his own free will, rather than Jafar throwing him out when he finally caught on to what was happening. Jasmine was certain Aladdin would simply try to come back if that happened, but perhaps, in all the times Jafar had attempted to pick him off the earth, it was all the Genie's doing to bring Aladdin back.

And Aladdin could stop torturing himself so.

Jasmine didn't understand why one would put himself through so much pain. There were plently of other girls out there; she believed that Aladdin should go find himself one rather than face the confusing... relationship that Jasmine had found herself in. And it confused Jasmine to no end – she knew that her strong-will and ability to talk back infuriated Jafar to no end (one being speechless as a fine quality in a wife, _indeed_), and no matter how many times that an argument had climbed into a shouting match, he'd never raised his fist like he'd done when she'd thrown the wine in his face. For right before he'd snap, Jafar would turn and stalk away, leaving Jasmine disgusted with Iago, who always looked rather disappointed.

And besides, it was always somewhat soothed over, most definitely not in the romantic of ways and sometimes downright brutal, but Jafar seemed to know of the most nicest, relaxing ways to make her forget, the things that he could do... things that Jasmine hadn't known had existed, let alone thought that he could do. And then in some blissful high, she'd wonder what the argument had been about in the first place.

But with each time, with each soar into the skies, her heart broke just that little bit more, the way that she was breaking Aladdin's heart, but for different reasons.

Reasons that Jasmine was desperate for not to exist, ones that she was frightened that if she admitted to herself, as she'd so nearly admitted to Aladdin, might wind up to be true. It was the reason, she knew, behind the dangerous games that she'd played with Jafar, but now that she could put a name to the reason, she was horrifed. Besides, what was the use of acknowledgement? Along with acknowledging the feeling, she'd be acknowledging the fact that Jafar would never see her reasons, let alone feel the same way.

Yet, staying in this marriage seemed the better of the two options. If only she could make Aladdin see that.

Jasmine rolled over onto her side, facing the fluttering curtains, the wind forcing the tears to dry up in her eyes. And as she pulled herself into the fetal position, she felt the dark brusies on her inner thighs throb, and the heat that burned on her face as she remembered how they had come there.

And it came to her.

She immediately felt sick to the stomach at the idea. The idea of doing this to both Aladdin and Jafar terrified her and nearly made the tears well back up again – how much more could Aladdin's heart break, and if Jafar were to find out her plan, well... she wouldn't have to attempt to escape the marriage to face death, that would be for sure. And to throw such a sacred thing into the open was damning and inexcuseable in Agrabah; it made Jasmine feel disgusted with herself.

But Jasmine was running out of options fast, and she wasn't sure that there was much more she could do to make Aladdin leave other than openly professing her 'love' for Jafar in public, which would most definitely backfire when Jafar would see it as nothing more than humilitating for him and embarrassing for her.

This would have to work. There was too much for her to lose.

_

* * *

_

_TBC_


	7. Capabilities

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: Enjoy, my loves, a little bit of a longer chapter (with plently of J&J interaction to please three particular reviewers)._

_As well as my abovementioned reviewers, thanks to everyone who is following along with the story, which seems to be a lot of people based on the traffic. So a shout out to all you readers, and those of which who have added this story as a favourite of theirs – it would be lovely to hear all your thoughts on the story so far, so if you could click the little review box at the end of the chapter and leave a little message (either positive or constructive criticism, no need for purely negative attitudes), it would be highly appreciated!_

_But for now, onwards... _

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

If anything good was coming out of her marriage to Jafar, it was that Jasmine was gaining an education.

Despite her pain, Jasmine wondered what sort of life experience she would gain if she were with Aladdin. How to steal food, and how to jump from rooftop to rooftop without being caught, with Razoul and the others noticing. How the cityfolk of Agrabah lived, and the ability to see the people eye-to-eye, without staring down at them from the high walls of the palace. But she was fairly confident that this was where her education would end – that there would be no life outside of Agrabah.

Granted, in the months married to Jafar, she also hadn't left Agrabah, outside of a honeymoon that she only vaguely remembered. But knowing that Jafar would leave the palace for days, visiting other cities, seeing lands that Jasmine only dreamed about, made her itching to leave, too. Much to her father and Aladdin's bewildement as to why Jasmine would actually want to spend time with Jafar, she would continously ask Jafar each time if she could go with him (but never beg – her pride would not allow her to do so, and she hated the idea of Jafar's head becoming more inflated than it already was). And each time he would refuse to take her, in a tone that meant that his reasons were not to be argued with, despite how pathetic those reasons were – that she wouldn't like where he was going, that it would be too hot for her, that the world outside of Agrabah was no place for a woman like her.

This last reason never failed to infuriate Jasmine.

"And what kind of woman am I?" she'd shouted at him, ignoring any punishment that might be dwelt out to her for doing so, the last time he'd used the reason. "What is so bad out there that I can't handle? The threat is inside this palace with me!"

"Do not shout at me," Jafar warned, in a low, warning voice that Jasmine knew could switch to fury at any moment. "You forget your place."

Jasmine wished that she could be as tall as he was, so she could glare at him eye-to-eye properly. "I thought that you believed that my place was beside _you._"

Jafar bit back his tongue from what he wanted to yell, and instead hissed at her through clenched teeth. "Here, yes. But I am not your protector, and I will not be responsible for you outside the palace walls."

"I'm perfectly capable of looking out for myself."

"Do not speak of things that you do not understand!" Jafar had finally shouted, his thimble-amount of patience gone with the teenager, and stalked away from her, his cloak bellowing out behind him. Jasmine could only stare at his retreating back, too confused to answer back. She knew she could look after herself, what did he mean by that?

But not being able to leave Agrabah (and she would one day, she'd show him) wasn't a total loss, for Jasmine had managed to gain unlimited access into Jafar's hundreds of books. This was much to the surprise of the Sultan, who had nearly had a heart attack when he'd spotted Jasmine relaxing and reading a rather large volume of Jafar's on a day bed, until Jasmine had gently informed him that Jafar already knew she was reading it. Aladdin was just stumped as to why Jasmine would indulge herself in such a boring pasttime such as reading, and despite the love and pain that cried in her body for Aladdin, she told him acidly that "at least I don't spend my time making up fruitless lies!"

Aladdin had wisely not brought up the subject again, and Jasmine for one, certaintly did not find reading boring, for this was how she was being educated.

She'd gained access to the world by an unlikely way, by another argument with Jafar. Due to the surprise of books, Jasmine could not remember what the fight had been about, except that she must've so strongly about it that she'd absentmindedly followed her husband up the spiral staircase and into his private tower during the argument, somewhere that she hadn't been since she was a young girl, frightened enough by the place not to return.

But at nearly seveteen years of age, Jasmine was spell-bound by the sheer amount of books and journals that were piled around the room, covered in fabrics of every colour and density, some with scrawling Arabic on the spines but many without any print, several with yellowed and curled pages from long, spidery fingers flicking through them and others seemingly hardly touched at all. Ignoring Jafar's heavy stare on her, Jasmine stepped over to the nearest pile and picked up the top book, blowing the dust off gently so that the gold fabric underneath seemed to wink at her. "So many books," she murmured, unaware that she'd spoken aloud.

Jafar's stare slowly softened (as far as he would allow it to soften, which wasn't far) from a dark scrowl to light interest, as he watched Jasmine gently flick through the pages. The selfish girl had never shown any interest to anything outside of herself, and to realise that she was interested in reading about other people and places surprised him greatly. He walked to stand next to her, looking down over her shoulder at the text, clearing his throat at not wanting to scare her.

"I did not realise that you liked to read, Jasmine," he observed.

"It's a bit difficult to enjoy when there's not many books around the palace; children's toys seem to be the norm here," Jasmine noted lightly, and in the back of her mind, realising that this was possibly the first conversation that she'd held with Jafar as civilised people. Jafar swallowed a snicker at the thought of the foolish old man and his tinkets when Jasmine suddenly looked up at him. "Do you enjoy reading?"

"Obviously," Jafar drawled sarcastically, prompting a glare from his wife, and then quickly changed subject with a more calm tone. "You probably wouldn't enjoy that one very much, actually; I can – "

Jafar stopped short. Like Jasmine, no one in the palace knew of his secret love of the written word, and he would be damned if anyone found out; he took strange pleasure in the knowledge that everyone was terrified of him, the idea of him reading would possibly give him a human edge in their eyes, maybe make him seem approachable, and he did _not_ want to be approached by such peasants.

The only one who knew was Iago, who took no notice and still seemed to be fascinated by stuffing crackers in the Sultan's mouth. Pathetic, mindless creatures, the both of them.

But if this kept Jasmine out of his hair, figuratively speaking, and stopped him from being dragged down into pointless arguments every five minutes, perhaps this little secret might be worth it.

Despite this, Jafar's voice stammered as he continued. "I can... select for you some books that you might like."

Jasmine's eyes lit up at this, and Jafar turned away hurriedly, uncomfortable with the look on her face. Selecting what he believed to be a suitable book, he blindly pushed it into Jasmine's hands. "Here," he snapped. "Bring it back in here once you've finished and select another at your leisure. On one condition."

Jasmine's stomach fell. Of course there would be a condition, Jafar couldn't be nice without conditions and it would've been truly weird that he would especially be nice towards her without some selfish reason. "What is it?" she asked in a small voice.

"Do not leave the books lying around the palace. No one else is to stumble upon them. Understood?"

"Understood," Jasmine agreed quickly, in relief that the condition was not bad at all.

"Good, now get out of here."

Jasmine didn't have to be told twice; she didn't want to stay around and wait for the inevitable moment when Jafar would lose his temper for some small reason, and darted out the door, the book clutched tightly in her arms.

But before Jafar could frustrate himself over why he'd done such a thing, he heard a light, happy voice float up the stairs and through the open door towards him. "Thank you!"

*

While Jafar was calm enough with Jasmine entering his private room, returning and choosing books with pleasure, Jasmine was quite certain that Jafar wouldn't feel the same away about... oh, stealing supplies.

Her plan had continued to lurk in her mind, but it had been a long two weeks until Jafar's next trip away and she couldn't do anything about it during that time except read. And what a pecuilar book she had happened to pick up this time.

Potions. Hundreds of potions, to produce effects of every different kind. Potions that made Jasmine smile dreamily about the sort of powers that some potions could create, and other potions that made her skin crawl, especially when she saw Jafar's handwritten notes scrawled alongside the receipe, adding his own touches to already dangerous concoutions. And then she'd found the perfect potion, not too nice but then again not too evil, just enough to push the first part of her plan into place. All she could hope for was that Jafar had it already made and bottled, as the ingredients alone confused Jasmine, and that Jafar would leave soon in order for her to claim her prize.

The day that Jafar had left for another trip – the first leaving in which Jasmine had not thought to argue with him over, as she had plans of her own – Jasmine snuck up to his tower and slipped inside, pleased that he did not seem to lock the door while he was away, and made her way over to where he kept his potions, where she'd spied them on previous occasions. She quickly scanned the small glass bottles, none of which were labelled but Jasmine was relieved when she came across a bottle with a liquid that was the precise colour and consistency that the receipe called for.

Her heart a little lighter than normal, she clutched the bottle tightly in her hand and turned around, only to face Iago, who had been left behind on this trip also.

Jasmine could swear that Iago smirked at her, even though she figured that parrots probably could not. "I'm sure that this is not what Jafar meant in saying that you could just come up here," Iago remarked arrogantly, with a tone that implied that he would tell on her the moment Jafar returned.

Jasmine reached behind her and picked up what she hoped was a rather omnious looking potion, holding it up dangerously in front of the parrot. "One squawk from you," she warned, in a voice that could give Jafar's most cruel voice a run for its money, "and the contents of this bottle go down your skinny little throat."

Iago fell quiet as Jasmine pushed past him and out the door. Damn Allah, she'd chosen the one bottle that he most feared. He'd tasted the poison before and truly did not wish to taste it again – Jafar thoroughly enjoyed using Iago as his test subject and the potion had given some unexpected and sinister side-effects.

Satisfied, and relishing the quietness of the palace, Jasmine slipped like a ghost into Aladdin's room, feeling a sense of sadness about destroying such a beautiful room forever. But the cruel plan plagued her and Jasmine knew that despite how she felt, she truly had no other option remaining open to her because of Aladdin's stubborness. With speed that the book had instructed and covering her nose and mouth with her hand, Jasmine quickly sprinkled the potion around the room before fleeing and discarding the bottle.

Within minutes the liquid had had the effect that Jasmine had been promised – the potent strench of the potion and the deadly powder blue haze left behind had forced the room to become inhabitable. Aladdin had no choice but to find another room in the palace, and he was more than happy to take the one that Jasmine had suggested. The one right next to her and Jafar's chambers.

*

That evening, Jafar stalked through the cool corridors. He'd arrived late into the evening, to find a largely deserted palace – the Sultan had informed him that both Aladdin and Jasmine had retired for the night, then he'd frowned at the smirk that had crossed the sorcerer's face. Hopefully Jasmine wasn' t _too _retired; he'd been away a little longer than usual, but even if she was asleep, he'd just wake her up – she didn't fight him off anymore.

But that useless street urchin was still there, though a little worse for wear it seemed. The Sultan had advised that Aladdin had switched rooms due to the mysterious atmosphere of his previous room, and Jafar's teeth had clenched angrily in realisation. Only one person would had the gall to break into his tower uninvited, let alone steal. But his fury had suddenly turned into an emotion of which could only be known as impressed – Jasmine, it seemed, had certaintly done her homework; having selected a potion of his that would be toxic to whoever stepped into it, but was too heavy to sweep under doors to affect the palace as a whole. Besides, he could always create more; the ingredients were readily on hand.

As he walked towards his chamber, Jafar wondered if this was Jasmine's latest attempt to throw her ex-lover out of the palace, and while it was an improvement on simply attempting to have a conversation, he knew it would take much more to get rid of the boy; he knew, as he had offered. But Jasmine had demanded that Aladdin would leave on his own terms and not Jafar's, and despite his thirst for the fake prince's blood on his hands (better yet, on the guards' hands rather than his own, Jafar did not appreciate having to do his own dirty work), he had realised that she did have a point.

Halting in front of his chamber door, he smiled a small smile of satisfaction at the glowing candlelight from under the door, and stepped silently inside. His Queen sat in the middle of their bed, a heavy gold blanket drapped around her small, curvaeous body, and her dark hair was pulled back into a long wavy ponytail pulled together with a metal clasp, just the way he liked it.

"'Mine," he called in a smooth voice, attempting to keep his voice light but his accent darkening it, as always. "Face me."

"As you wish," Jasmine responded, with words that she had never used together towards him. She swung her body around on the bed before standing, allowing the blanket to pool around her feet.

Jafar's breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her, and he felt a flash of fire stir up inside deep within him, a fire that began to burn dangerously the longer that he stared at her. _Dear Allah_...

Jasmine, his Jasmine, all in marvelous shades of red and gold. The tight crimson top only barely covering her chest; the shimmery, see-through fabric of a barely there skirt. The golden snake accessory wrapped around her upper arm... perfection was the only word Jafar had in order to describe the beauty in front of him, and a silent thank-you to all the gods that he knew of for marrying one of the few women in Agrabah who so strongly ignored the conversative Arabic dress code.

For her part, Jasmine willed herself to smile and to resist the urge to want to wrap her arms around herself and dive back under the blanket – so strong was the embarrassment of feeling so naked in front of Jafar like this, despite the fact that she had worn plently less, plently of times now, while under him. But she had noticed the light from under the door connecting her chambers through to Aladdin's room, the door that remained permenantly closed, and after having come so far, Jasmine knew that she had to follow through with this plan, with the most unusual way of showing love for Aladdin.

And so, Jasmine placed the golden crown that she'd left on the bed seductively on her head, this time for real, rather than with the horror she'd felt on that horrific night, so many months ago. She drew herself tall, and forced herself to stare sweetly into the heavily darkened and excited eyes of her lover. Her voice rang out across the room, far too loud than necessary to reach him, but also as loud as necessary to drift across into the adjoining room.

"Welcome home, Jafar. I've missed you."

* * *

_TBC_


	8. Lover

****

An Agreement's Small Print

_A/N: Discussion time:_

_Penpusher: I couldn't imagine Jasmine killing either character, it for sure will not happen in this story, I can't see her falling into the same uncontrollable rage that Jafar or possibly Aladdin could sccumbe to. And I'm a big book-lover as well – going to Borders for me is a dangerous idea, I told myself that today going there... I went anyway!_

_Foxfire: Aw don't feel guilty! My comment wasn't for you guys; it just surprised me that other people on FFnet don't seem to review that much. I love the reviews from you three!_

_Anyone who can guess what scene and in what movie I've ripped off (uh, paid homage to) with the beginning of this chapter gets an invisible cookie, in the form of dedication and praise next chapter._

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Aladdin ran.

His bare feet quite nearly flew over the top of rooftops and sprung him across small alleyways, as he darted across ceiling of Agrabah. Years of living on the streets had given Aladdin the ability of agility, the everyday experience of having to steal food and run before he became caught put him heads and shoulders above the average people of the city when it came to sprinting and jumping.

Aladdin sweltered in the heat as he ran, the midday sun high in the blue sky above him. As he quickly brushed sweat away from his eyes, a small part of his mind realised that it was far too hot for a winter's day, but he was more focused on the tangle of thoughts in his mind – he felt so free to be running, no longer couped up in a tiny space that he couldn't identify, running away from someone he didn't remember and desperate to search for someone that he wasn't sure he would recongise.

But as he touched down on a final rooftop, Aladdin spotted a lone figure standing at the other end, her back to him, hands resting on the edge, gazing out over her city. He came to a sudden halt as he watched her, his panting breath the only sound that could be heard so high up above the streets. Unsure, Aladdin became to walk slowly towards her, not entirely sure of her identity.

"Jasmine?" he called, hoping, when he was sure that his voice would carry across to her. She didn't run, but Aladdin came to a stop in front of her; if he reached out, he would be able to touch her clear, cinnamon skin, but was too afraid that if he did, she might disappear.

And then she turned, and he broke into a wide smile.

Jasmine looked perfect standing there, draped in a simple white gown with a blood red and azure blue braid around her waist, her long hair flowing out and fluttering lightly in the wind. She smiled at him in return, and leaned into him to speak. Aladdin's heart stopped, knowing that she was about to say the words he desperately needed to hear, for reasons he couldn't place.

But then she suddenly looked up over his shoulder, and before Aladdin could turn to see what or who had captured her gaze, she began to giggle, her cheeks blushing with heat, and instead of her laughter sounding sweet to his ears, Aladdin wanted to make her stop as it was a rough, odd, chilling sound like nails on a chalkboard to him, the giggling not being the happy sound of an innocent child but that of a teasing, secretive woman. He closed his eyes tightly, pressing his hands tightly over his ears to push Jasmine away, but an invisible force ripped open his eyelids, defeating him.

And he found himself staring disorientedly at a golden ceiling that was unfamiliar to him, his hands still pressed against his head, the giggling sweet again, and softer.

Aladdin sat up.

In sheer disappointment, he realised that he'd only fall asleep, the sky outside still dark and the oil lamps still burning. The room was unfamiliar to him at first and Aladdin vaguely wondered where he was, until he remembered that he had had to move.

Aladdin ran his hand through his dishelleved hair, wanting to bury his face under one of the pillows and return to his dream – waking up into reality was like entering a nightmare. He knew the real reason why he wanted to go back to his dream was just to see Jasmine's smiling face; not either the anger or the frustration that always seemed to be there whenever she came across him, and to hear those three little words speak from her perfect lips to him, words that Aladdin wasn't entirely sure if he'd ever hear again.

But he could still hear the giggling.

Aladdin looked over at second door into the room, one that he'd tried earlier that day only to find that it was locked. He could hear Jasmine's gentle laughter, occasionally breaking off as he heard the softest murmur of her voice, and occasionally lifting up into near hysterics. Aladdin clenched a fist tightly around the edge of a pillow, the knowledge of the cause of Jasmine's laughter making his blood boil. It was him who should be making Jasmine laugh; how could that inhumane excuse for a man be making Jasmine happy?

And then he frowned, before stumbling across the floor and kneeling down against the door. The question wasn't was how Jafar was making her happy; it was how Jafar was making her laugh in happiness.

*

Jasmine's back arched off the bed as the tickling sensation heated up under her skin; it was a mild sensation, not tickling that would increase in pressure until it was too painful to take. Jafar sometimes made her tickle this way, to relax and calm her, and Jasmine wanted to reveal in it – usually he was far more brutal, which she also liked, but tonight she had encouraged him to go slower, so her cries wouldn't be confused with sounds of pain.

But when he did do this, she usually didn't laugh so loudly – she wasn't sure if it was partly due to the wine she'd had with the evening meal in an attempt to work up the courage of seducing Jafar, but she knew that it was mostly an attempt to have Aladdin hear it; she knew he was in the connecting room... no, she wouldn't allow herself to feel depressed about the plan, not now.

Jafar's teeth clenched together as he stroked his long, thin hand over Jasmine's smooth, naked skin, down from under the swell of her breast to the jut of her hip – her giggling was childlike and very much a turn-off, and he wondered why everything she said, she was speaking overly loudly. He was willing to overlook look that though, with the way she'd offered to herself to him, but the giggling was becoming ridiculous. He stared for a moment at the hand warm against her body, then felt his eyes darken and heard a snarl start up in his throat as he stared down her stomach and thighs. He'd stop that laughter.

Jasmine's eyes flew open as she felt his hand leave her skin and replaced with the soft pressure of his lips, then the quick flick of his tongue at the same spot, her body burning under his touch. She withered on the bed as Jafar made his way down towards her hip, and she watched him under half-lidded eyes, her breathing becoming rapid. He hadn't done such a thing to her since she'd kicked him in the shoulder and sent him flying across the bedroom, and her mind began to close down as she remembered how wonderful the sensation of just his breath there could be.

But Jafar was going so painfully slowly, and Jasmine knew that if she tried to push him along, she would surely walk away with dark bruises around her wrists. As she attempted to clear her dry thought, it was only at the last second that she remembered that she had to raise her voice louder than usual. "You snake... hurry up..."

With that, Jafar paused over the most perfect part of Jasmine's body, where all her sensations of being a woman met, deep down in her center. He smiled to himself evilly for a moment, then flicked his tongue lightly against her, satisfied for the time being when he heard her moan softly. "Ah, Jasmine... let me show you how snakelike I can be."

And then he pushed his indeed-snakelike tongue into her, forcing his Queen to shriek in pleasure.

*

Aladdin sat with his back straight up against the door, squeezing his eyes shut against the images in his head. With the sounds that were flowing through the door now, he could only imagine what Jasmine's face might look like, how her body might look like, and the image made Aladdin want to hurl.

He'd noticed during their courtship how beautiful her body looked, but he'd never even considered about after the wedding, thinking that it was just something that was done, expected. He would have been damned if he had tainted that body the way he could only assume Jafar was currently, a man who could not possibly consider the beauty that he had, only after his own gain. He could've hardly laid a finger on Jasmine's inimate sides, not wanting to poison her, keep her sweet and innocent forever, frozen in time.

And by the sounds of Jasmine's escalating moans and the word that twisted his stomach into knots – "please" – Aladdin was horrified that Jasmine didn't seem to share this view, that perhaps she would've wanted more from him that he would be willing to give. Despite how guilty he felt about it, he wondered if this was all Jasmine had wanted.

No, she would never had been that shallow. But the cries of pleasure behind the door told a different story, one that he thought that Jasmine never would've had. His hatred towards Jafar for ruining her initiallly was quickly being matched by his... not hatred, Aladdin could never use such a strong word against his Princess, his... frustration towards her for allowing the sorcerer to continue to destroy her. All Aladdin could hope for was that he'd be able to keep an impatrial face towards her the following day.

And know that his feelings of shame would be lurking right underneath that face, for feeling this way towards her despite his love, and he knew that his love would keep him here besides Jasmine, because one day she'd be his pure princess again.

The room on the other side of the door suddenly went quiet, and Aladdin opened his eyes, thinking that perhaps it was over. Perhaps Jasmine had regained her lovely dignity. But it was a short-lived hope, and he closed his eyes once more when he heard her groan, deep and loud.

*

Jasmine dug her nails deep into Jafar's back, certain that she had caused blood to rise but absolutely failing to care, as she wrapped a leg clumsily around his hips. Jafar had returned to his usual brutal self in bed, but this too, Jasmine failed to care about – the sheer pleasure and ectasy that she'd had felt moments ago made the feelings reach incredible levels, levels that she had been certain did not exist previously. All she cared about was trying to push him as deep down inside her as she could, and even when she was certain that it was as far as he could physically go, it was not deep and fulfilling enough to satisfy her.

For his side of events, Jafar had felt this pleasure with the little wench since the beginning, but seeing and feeling Jasmine soar to new heights made it oddly feel even better. He hadn't been kidding himself that it would feel this good eventually, and he wasn't sure what had made the change, but he could only feel bliss as the fire grew hotter and the bulge became so uncomfortable and nearly painful, as blissful as when...

But now was not the time to think about that. This was Jasmine here, and despite the frustration and anger and annoyance he felt towards the woman on a daily basis, when it came to this, he was a man, and watching Jasmine suddenly look up with him with bright, surprised and sedated eyes at her new emotions, he was going to show her that.

Jafar moved her long hair off and away from her sweaty face and neck, which made her skin shine in the candlelight, and pressed his lips tightly against her ear, his groaning making his usual cruel and dangerous voice sound raw and ragged. " ' mine..." he whispered his double-meaning pet name for her, just loud enough for her to hear. "When I saw now, relax your body."

He waited the several seconds it took for Jasmine to realise that he'd spoken at all, then for her to nod slightly.

"Now."

*

"_Jafar!_"

Aladdin's eyes flew back open at Jasmine's sudden scream, her voice having hit it's upper limit. Her voice felt like a knife being plunged into his heart; never in a thousand years could he imagine her sweet voice screaming out like that, under such conditions. The knife continued to stab him deeply with each continuing call of Jafar's name, each time being called out slightly softer and more drawn out, until all that he could hear was a desperate, slow moan fading into nothingness.

*

After what seemed to be too short a time, Jafar carefully climbed off the bed, trying not to disrupt his peacefully sleeping wife, in order to exhingsh the candles and plunge the room into darkness. Once this was done, he pulled the heavy blanket over her and slipped in behind her, their bodies tangling in a mess of limbs, and secured his arm around her stomach, and immediately fell into a deep, and for once, a relaxed sleep.

*

The same could not be said for Aladdin, who had long collasped into a mess of confused tears.

_

* * *

_

_TBC_


	9. Proposal

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N:_ _Didn't really expect anyone to guess correctly the movie scene from the beginning of the previous chapter – it's from the movie Requiem for a Dream, based entirely off my favourite scene in the movie (Jennifer Connelly on the pier, for anyone's who seen it). But invisible cookies to everyone!_

_Foxfire: Nothing wrong with laughing at Aladdin's breakdown! I've laughed at totally inappropriate moments in other Aladdin stories!_

_Thank you for the lovely reviews on the previous chapter (which is as graphic as the sexual content is going to become in this story, I'm not one for detailing such scenes for no purpose), enjoy the next..._

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

During the meal the following evening, the tension in the air could be cut with a knife. And the poor Sultan was perplexed as to why. The day had begun oddly, only to become stranger still and now the Sultan wondered how much longer it would be until someone set the bomb off.

The Sultan hadn't seen a sight of either his daughter, the sorcerer or the depressed boy until mid-afternoon, until Jafar had suddenly appeared and demanded a conference with him. This request wasn't so unusual within itself – it was Jafar's attutide towards the conference; if the Sultan didn't know Jafar as well as he liked to believe he did, he would nearly think that Jafar was _happy._

In the years that Jafar had lived in Agrabah's palace, the Sultan had never seen an emotion inside of Jafar that was anywhere near happiness, unless it was sarcastic. The Sultan had continously asked him to lighten up and have a little fun, though the Sultan had never thought of his daughter being the source of Jafar's fun (and he was reasonably certain this was the case, considering the deliriously happy state that Jasmine had also seemed to be in when he had seen her a couple of hours later, if only her emotion lasting for a just a few minutes). But whatever the reason was, Jafar appeared to be physically relaxed, appearing plently younger than his thirty-eight years, and in a frighteningly genuine good mood – ifanyone in Agrabah wanted a favor from Jafar, no matter how extreme, today seemed to be the day to ask for it, because it would only be a matter of time before Jafar returned to his usual arrogant self whom everyone had come to know and hate.

Even now, sitting at the head of his table, Jafar seemed to be unable to pay attention to atmosphere in the room, going so far as to terrify the Sultan when he smiled at him, with no malice at all.

Besides him, Jasmine appeared to have taken Jafar's normal foul mood and was using it for herself; the Sultan wondered if Jasmine even knew how dangerously she was waving her knife in Aladdin's direction.

The Sultan had originally felt real sympathy for the poor boy, but now he wondered why Aladdin seemed to be intent on torturing himself so. The chance to be with his daughter appeared to have well and truly left, much to his own despair, but Aladdin didn't seem to be catching on to this idea. The Sultan was quite certain that there were plently of other nice young ladies in Agrabah who would've fancied Aladdin as their husband, and had attempted to tell him so, but Aladdin had nearly snapped – did he believe the Sultan to be sick, allowing Jasmine to remain married to that perverted creep? Aladdin appeared to be conviently forgetting that it wasn't the Sultan's decision as to whom Jasmine married.

But if Aladdin had looked frustrated before about the situation, he looked truly wrecked now, and the Sultan was quite certain that he'd overheard Aladdin muttering to himself that afternoon, "if I could live through that for Jasmine, I could live through anything" – the Sultan decided that he didn't really want to know what Aladdin was referring to. But he knew that the combination of Jasmine's gentle words and Jafar and Iago's vicious insults would eventually cause Aladdin to break, and for everyone's sanity, the Sultan preferred for Aladdin to be out of the palace before the grand occasion.

As it was, Aladdin looked like he was going to cry into his food, and the Sultan rather hoped that he wouldn't, as things were already awkward enough. But in a way he blamed his daughter and the sorcerer for the mess that life had become, and deep down, he blamed himself even more so for allowing it to happen.

The Sultan had always feared this union – he'd always been able to break the law in regards to Jasmine only marrying a prince, but he had hoped that by keeping the law in place, that Jasmine wouldn't be tempted to look elsewhere for a husband, to consider other possible suspects. For years he had seen Jasmine and Jafar circling each other like sharks, one constantly biting and and the other wanting to bite back harder but keeping himself in check. She had simply been a little girl after all, with words that would hardly effect an adult man.

But Jasmine wouldn't always remain a little girl, and that was what the Sultan had truly feared – the day that the emotions other than anger would suddenly leap forward and engulf the other. And he had been certain that one day it would occur, it was obvious to him; the way Jasmine's face heated up when arguing with Jafar, heat that had no relation to her anger, and the way Jafar would sometimes stare after her as she'd leave the argument, with unusual emotions in his eyes. Eyes were the windows to the soul after all, and the Sultan was certain that at those times, the thoughts in Jafar's soul were not of a proper nature.

And so the Sultan had desperately tried to ignore it; besides, there was the law.

So much for it.

The dull metallic crash of Jasmine throwing her knife down to her plate brought the Sultan out of his disturbed thoughts; she'd thrown it so hard that it had nearly bounced off the plate and onto the table. The Sultan looked up at his daughter in surprise, but Aladdin continued to stare at his plate gloomily, and Jafar into space with a rather demented and dumb look on his face.

"Father, may I be excused?" Jasmine asked, forcing politeness into her voice with a fake smile, but her eyes were cold and she chipped off the end of each of her words.

Despite this, the Sultan's heart warmed for his daughter – even at nearly seventeen years old and married to the most powerful man in Agrabah, she still asked him if she could leave the table like a child. He smiled a genuine smile in return, before remembering the conversation that he had had with Jafar earlier that day.

"I believe that Jafar wanted a word at dinner, dearest... Jafar?" The Sultan questioned when Jafar appeared to not have heard him, but then the usual calm and snide appearence slipped into Jafar's face, and his hand slipped over Jasmine's on the table, as it had many months ago but with a touch that was nearly gentle, rather than possesive.

Aladdin watched every moment, every entangle of each finger.

"I have already advised your father of this," Jafar began. "I will be leaving in a couple of days, for several months – a little over a year if all goes well."

"Where are you going?" Jasmine asked, surprising herself at the hurt in her voice, both at his leaving and the fact that he'd told her father first rather than his wife. She saw Aladdin's face light up through the corner of her eye, and she wanted to smack that smile away.

Jafar appeared to notice his smile as well, but he matched it in one that spoke of triumph, before turning to face Jasmine's openly concerned face once more. "I am first travelling to Dadu for business, then travelling to London to oversee some personal matters." He went silent for a moment, and squeezed her fingers. "I would be... honoured... if as my wife and queen, that you came with me, if you'd like."

The room went quietly as Jasmine and Aladdin stared at him, trying to understand what he'd just said. This came as no surprise to the Sultan, whom Jafar had also confided this news in earlier in the day.

It felt as if her anger had been wiped away from her mind – Jasmine stared at her husband, unsure as to whether to believe him, but Jafar's face seemed to tell no lies. She was first surprised at how he had phrased the request – as a question that was truly up to her, rather than a demand or assumption. As if he really valued her response.

Then secondly, she was surprised that Jafar was even asking in the first place. After all her begging to go with him to just the neighboring city for a few days and his refusals, he was offering to take her on his travels for several months. Jasmine simply didn't understand the change of heart, so before allowing her own heart to dream of such adventures, she decided it was better to ask. "Why... I mean, you've never let me come with you before..."

Jafar shrugged lightly, still maintaining eye contact, as if that was all such a simple matter. "As I will be away for some time, I thought you might enjoy the journey... it'll give you a chance to think about some situations..." again, Jafar glanced at Aladdin with a triumphant smile, "... away from home."

Aladdin struggled to fight the rage he was feeling towards the sorcerer, and wondered if Jasmine and Jafar had been teaming up some special plot to drive him away. He had also been pleased when Jafar had said that he would be leaving – finally, a chance to try and make things work between himself and Jasmine, a chance to bring Jasmine around to a normal way of thinking and encouraging her to realise who she really wanted in her heart, for her to be far away from palace life by the time her joke of a husband returned, no matter what physical pleasures he might be able to offer her. The chance to make her his wonderful, sweet and pure Princess once more.

But the way Jasmine's eyes lit up at Jafar's offer, the way the corners of her beautiful lips tugged upwards at the wonder of all the countries and sights that she would be able to see, had put a dampen on this idea. He felt like throwing himself across the table when Jasmine broke into her stunning smile, a smile for Jafar and not for him, as she began: "I would like – "

Aladdin stood with such speed that his chair fell backwards and went flying back across the room, putting a quick stop into Jasmine's acceptance as she looked up at him with a mixture of frustration and annoyance on her face. Quickly, he glanced at the Sultan upon the sigh that the older man exhaled, but glared at the satisfied smirk on Jafar's face and spun on his heel, walking quickly away from the table and out of the room, desperate to be able to fight the conflicting emotions of sadness and anger in private.

Jasmine slumped in her chair upon his leaving, the eleation of travelling across unknown worlds gone, and closed her eyes tightly, trying to control her own emotions. There was silence for a time, until she heard Jafar's chair screeching backwards across the marble floor, and then his warm hand resting on her bare shoulder, in a strange show of comfort from the man.

"I understand if you can't give me an answer right now, but I will need to know by this time tomorrow to send word." Then the soft swish of his indoor slippers as he walked away, fading away into nothingness.

Yet she kept her eyes closed, feeling her father's gentle and caring eyes on her, even as she rested her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands.

* * *

_TBC_

_*for everyone's understanding, the place of Dadu that Jafar mentions is the 13__th__ century name for Beijing (according to Wikipedia)_


	10. Decision

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A_/_N: Glad everyone seems to like Jafar being nice (or nicer) for a change, I was rather uncertain in posting the previous chapter if I had kept him in character enough. I don't like it when authors completely turn the characters into people they would absolutely never be, and here's hoping that by the time this story ever ends, our favourite characters still resemble themselves in some way._

_Mad Madame Me – no sympathy for Aladdin required, I personally don't like him myself – we all want to see him whacked upside the head multiple times!_

_As always, thank you all for the reviews, and enjoy this chapter_

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

Jasmine kept her face buried in her hands for several minutes, trying to contain possibly hundreds of emotions and feelings all at once.

Confusion, hatred and frustation towards Aladdin. How old did Aladdin think he was, five? Only a child would throw such a tanterm at a time like this, when things did not go his way. She was so tired of this mess, so tired of the idea of living up to Aladdin's impossibly high standards, and his wild, romantic dreams. In the last year, Jasmine felt as if she'd grown ten years older, and had left Aladdin behind at his current age.

Not that her own actions had been necessarily adult, she had to remind herself, of actions of last night. But how she wished to be able to sit down with Aladdin and have a conversation, in which perhaps some of her words might actually sweep through his thick skull, rather than him drugging himself on the tone of her voice. Jasmine was at a loss – what more did Aladdin want from her? All she wanted was Aladdin to leave for his own safety and sanity, and to leave her alone, no matter how much it broke her heart to see her first... her love walk out the palace doors forever.

But he seemed only certain to do that if she left Jafar, a possibility that if Jasmine was truthful to herself, seemed more unlikely with each day. She was somewhat certain now that if she did divorce him now, she'd be able to keep her life, and she wasn't entirely sure when this realisation had come about. Perhaps just this evening, with his invitation, for her to go with him as an equal in an utterly bizarre partnership, rather than just his prize to show off to the world.

An invitation that despite her feelings towards Aladdin, was filling Jasmine with excitement, red-hot excitement that raced through the live wires of her body. The thought of seeing so much of the world, so many cities and countries and people and places, made Jasmine want to leap to her feet and drag Jafar off on the adventure right then and there. She could hardly believe that Jafar had asked her to come; after all his arguments, she never would have believed that he would be the one to suggest such an idea.

In a small way, the idea of an entire year away, a year with only Jafar for company and very little else, unnerved Jasmine. So many things could go wrong with his unpredictable rage and her stubborness, but as the gentle pain in her stomach reminded her from the previous evening (an a couple of times that morning, and earlier that afternoon before the socrerer had decided that he'd better get out of bed), so many things could go so _right _with his lust and her passion. The simple dream thrilled Jasmine with a wanting that had nothing to do with the adventures of far-away lands, and the fact that she knew, with a touch of sadness, that with Jafar, the dream would simply remain that – a dream – did not deter her. But such high fantasies came with such high prices.

Man versus boy, husband versus what she hoped was her best friend. A gentle groan escaped from Jasmine's lips, muffed by her hands – how had things become so complicated, and why oh why had she opened her big mouth inside that hourglass?

She felt her father move silently into the chair next to her, then his short arm around her shoulders. Jasmine peeked at him around her hands, sighing softly. "What do I do, Father?"

The Sultan gently pulled Jasmine's hands away from her pretty face, and smiled sadly. "I think you should go with him. I have thought that since Jafar suggested the idea to me this afternoon, and I still think that."

Jasmine folded her arms on the table and rested the side of her face against her clasped hands, staring up at his friendly face. "What about Aladdin?"

"I believe a year apart would be good for both you and Aladdin," The Sultan replied, tucking a long strands of dark hair behind Jasmine's ear. "His presence here has only made you more miserable day by day, and he insists on deluding himself with painful hopes; sadly, I don't think he may change, whether he stays here or not. But you, dearest, you are growing up."

"I don't feel like I am," Jasmine muttered.

"In my eyes, you are, and I think in someone else's eyes, as well," The Sultan admitted, smiling inwardly at the sudden blush that swept across Jasmine's cheeks. "But think about what Jafar is offering you – you've always wanted to see the world; I remember fondly that when you were a little girl, you used to climb the trees to see how far out over the wall as you could. And it's not just the city you'd be able to see now, it's far-away lands that you'd be able to see, and with an experienced guide. I'm afraid you wouldn't have that chance with Aladdin, all he sees is Agrabah."

Jasmine continued to just stare up into her father's face, but she'd begun to chew on the corner of her bottom lip. The Sultan gently cupped her chin and brought her lips away from her teeth. "All I am saying, my love, is make a decision that you can live with, that you won't wake up in ten years regretting when the chance doesn't pass you by again."

Jasmine sighed, and the Sultan felt sadness for his daughter as her eyes became downcast, despite the flush crossing her face again. "But it would be just me and Jafar..." she whispered, in a voice that was strained, and the Sultan wasn't entirely sure if her tone was one of fear or one of anticipation.

The Sultan stood, pushing his chair under the table, but before left, he placed a hand on her upper arm and squeezed gently, the way Jafar had squeezed her shoulder only a short time ago. Despite herself, Jasmine couldn't help but compare – the loving comfort of her father, and the reassurance of her lover. "Despite his... colourful personality, he wouldn't asked you to come on such a long journey if he didn't want your company. It was Aladdin's choice for you to wed Jafar, in order to save himself.

"But it was your choice to remain married to Jafar."

*

Perhaps it was a sixth sense that he had suddenly gained to detect another person's feelings, but Jasmine was grateful for Jafar's not asking about what her intentions were, or to even bring up the trip at all. Instead, she'd seen very little of him for the evening, and when he came to her in bed, Jafar had simply wrapped an arm around her stomach and drawn her to him, allowing Jasmine to hear his heartbeat against the back of her head, the feeling of his scars along her back.

And despite the acidity of the tone that Jafar used when speaking, in the embrace's silence, there was only comfort and safety.

*

The following morning, Jafar had brought up the topic once, and only then out of necessity. Jasmine informed him that she hadn't made a decision yet, and had watched his cheek tighten ever so slightly as he clenched his teeth together in annoyance. But then he had just reminded her that he needed to know by nightfall, and had walked away without frustration in his steps, allowing Jasmine to sit outside in the morning sun and simply wonder.

But the frustration found Jasmine, when she realised that she was so close to a decision only for Aladdin to plop down in the grass beside her. "This is great, isn't it?" he asked her brightly, the cheerfulness in his tone causing Jasmine to become suspicious and to suddenly breath deeply through her nose.

She couldn't look at him. "What is great?"

"Jafar's leaving!" He commented, unaware of any tension. "That arrogant twit is taking himself away. We'll finally get our chance, just you and me, Jas!"

When Jasmine could ignore the cold beats of silence no more, she spoke up, her voice exceptionally cool. "I never said that I was staying here."

"But surely you're not going with him?" The frown was evident in Aladdin's voice, when Jasmine stood and he stared up at her, shielding his eyes from the high sun. "What's the matter?"

"Why wouldn't I go with him?" Jasmine demanded to know, her voice higher than usual. The surprisingly dimwitted boy failed to follow.

"He's Jafar!"

"He's my husband!" she nearly shouted now, feeling months of rage towards the boy beginning to make her blood boil. "Now, if you were my husband, wouldn't you want me to be by _your _side?"

Aladdin stammered over his words; he'd never seen Jasmine like this before, the ugly anger that tarnished her beauty. "Of... of course... I would..."

"So how is this different?"

"Because he's – "

"I know his name, you foolish boy!" Jasmine now shouted, causing Aladdin to cringe away from her, the birds to cease their twittering and the soft murmur of the guards nearby to stop. "And none of that no longer matters to me, none of it!"

"Jas – "

But Jasmine was streamrolling him. "I cannot expect you to understand, what my reasons behind decisions are! Allah knows I have spent months trying to get you to understand, only to be speaking to walls! Aladdin, you cannot possibly know how I feel for anyone, because all you know is how you'd like to believe I feel about you!"

Aladdin managed to find his voice, and when he did, he was ashamed at how unmanly it sounded. "And how is that?"

"Anger, annoyance, disbelief... so many things that I wish not to feel!" Jasmine snapped, but then softened suddenly, her face appearing tired. "And love, yes, but it's so dim now, Aladdin, that emotion."

"And what about that emotion for Jafar?" The unmanly voice had drifted away to a whisper.

"_This is not about Jafar!" _Jasmine screamed, desperate to not let the tears fall from her eyes were they prickled, trying to ignore the urge to tear her hair out in an avalanche of emotions. "This is about _you_, and what you want! It always has been!" Aware of the audience and stillness around them, Jasmine fought to pull her voice down to a normal level, but even, her voice shook without restraint. "And now I'm going to have what I want, and you are going to get what you so desperately need."

And with that, Jasmine spun on her heel and marched through the courtyard towards the palace, shouting out Jafar's name as loud as she could – the sooner he appeared, the sooner she could make her decision. Aladdin ran along behind her, trying to pull her back towards him, where he felt that she belonged, but she failed to hear his pleads.

The search ended quickly – Jasmine nearly smacked into her husband as he appeared from the room leading to his tower, and he stared at her with wide eyes, unable to get a grip on his emotions due to surprise.

"Jasmine?" he questioned confusedly, but then a smirk suddenly crossed his face as he spied the crestfallen Aladdin behind his wife. "Ah, urchin boy. I see."

"Jafar!" Jasmine snapped, rudely yanking his attention back towards her. "I accept. I'm going with you."

Jafar's face brightened eerily as despair took it's hold on Aladdin. "Ah, that's good – "

Aladdin thought that the nightmare could not become worse, but then it did: Jasmine cut him off by pulling Jafar's head down to her own and pressing her lips tightly against his, her small hands clutching at his shoulders, her tongue hurriedly searching its way into his mouth. In shock, Jafar allowed his arms to wrap around her back in a rare display of public affection, but was near immediately pushed away as Jasmine wheeled on him, glaring at Aladdin, then walking away past him, leaving a destroyed boy and a perplexed but satisfied man standing in the corridor.

And all Aladdin could do was stare in her wake, not realising that the final time he would see his Princess in a year would be to see her in anger, caused by himself.

* * *

_TBC_


	11. Assurances

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: Glad everyone enjoyed Aladdin getting what he so rightly deserves in the previous chapter, it was a pleasure to write. And Pen's comment of Jafar and Jasmine turning into each other made me laugh – this was something the Sultan was going to comment on about their behaviour in the previous chapter, but it didn't make it in to the story. Thanks to you all for the ongoing reviews and reassurances that Jafar isn't wandering off too far away from his character – a nice, lame version of Aladdin just isn't Jafar..._

_And now a plot question for you all – chapter twelve is going to take awhile at this rate to get out as I currently have no plot for Aladdin (and the Sultan for that matter) for pretty much the entire year J&J are gone, but I've got their trip sorted out... so this story can either explore Aladdin's non-existent plot as well for the year and chapters take awhile to get out as a result, or we can just have several back-to-back chapters of J&J at a faster pace and catch up with the other two at a later date. Your thoughts?_

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

The moment that Jasmine has stepped into the palace, within a city in China, she'd wanted to turn around and run back to Agrabah. She was sure that she truly would've, if Jafar hadn't grasped her wrist and nearly thrown her into the palace in front of him. Rubbing her arm, she'd turned back to glare at him, but the look on his face had forced her to look away again – his calm features were disrupted by the palest of snarls on his lips, reassurance that if she humiliated him, she wouldn't just be returning to Agrabah; she'd be returning in pieces.

Jasmine glared instead now into the dark bedroom – the least he could've done was hypnotise her.

They had left Agrabah a little over a month ago, and for a great while of that time, Jasmine had enjoyed the journey, with no regrets on coming along with Jafar. The world was eye-opening for her – the cities that were far larger than Agrabah with so many more people, and the cities that were so dirt-poor that it brought tears to her eyes, and the unlimited different languages that she heard amazed Jasmine, even if she couldn't speak any of them.

But what she loved most of all was the long stretches of desert to cross, on the back of a sweet, calm horse, and by her side, her hus band on his own horse. They crossed the lands by night, under a sky studded with stars, and spent the boiling days in the safety of pitched tents, days that were spent eating and sleeping and enjoying pleasure.

Jasmine even enjoyed the nights in which they travelled in silence, due to fights the previous day, giving her the chance to reveal in the perfect, dusky stillness of the earth.

And then, the final evening in th desert, Jafar had blown it all apart, as only he could.

"You need to wear this today," Jafar had snapped, then flung a blue dress at Jasmine, along with a pair of beautifully beaded golden slippers. She'd caught the dress swiftly and opened it out, before laughing.

"I'm not wearing this!"

The dress was lovely, but Jasmine was sure that she'd suffocate or overheat wearing it, if not both. The midnight blue Chinese dress was a heavy silk, with little gold and silver flowers blanketing it, and matching trim around the high neck and short sleeves. It fell to her ankles, with gold material clasps crossing her chest diagonally.

"You will wear that," Jafar correctedly in his smooth voice, a voice that warned that there would be no argument. "It is perfect suitable for where we will be arriving."

"Why can't I wear my usual clothes?"

"Because those are unsuitable." He sounded tired, as if explaining to a child.

Jasmine had flung the dress to the ground, causing it to be covered in sand. Jafar frowned, but then turned his back to give her privacy. "Get changed now."

She felt ridiculous in the get up, feeling her skin melting with the heat trapped between her body and the dress, and even more so ridiculous when Jafar had had to lift her up onto her horse with surprising strength, as the dress did not allow her to move freely. He allowed the smallest of smiles towards her as she tried to straighten out the dress around her, but she could hear his effort to keep his voice within it's usual arrogance and and sarcasm. "You look lovely," he remarked with honesty that surprised both of them, and Jasmine fought the blush that was threatening to cross her face. "A perfect Queen."

Jasmine glared at him, causing his smile to grow into a smirk at the sight of her face. There was her anger and selfish attitude, always bubbling before the surface, the dark water that Jafar loved. "And why aren't you changing?" she asked, studying his usual Arabian clothes.

She heard his voice carry towards her as Jafar swung up onto his own horse, and Jasmine thought him lucky – if he were in physical distance, she would've slapped him. "I'm the sorcerer and ruler of Agrabah; my clothes reflect this. Your clothes... your clothes turn you from a common girl to a sorcerer's obedient wife."

Jafar relished the moment of silence, then smiled smugly as he heard her grumble behind him.

"Bastard."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

*

But if the clothes had turned Jasmine off the idea of visiting this new land, the people in the palace made her stomach twist.

The ruler of this particular city, King Zhuang, made Jasmine felt revolted just by looking at him, and made Jafar appear to be a perfectly polite, considerate and healthy man in comparison. Jasmine's skin crawled by the way the King outwardly stared up at her with his beady eyes; his round, bald head glistened with sweat, his long moustache twitched at the sight of her and his large stomach hung down under his robe. There was something uncomfortable in his study of her, and to the smallest of reliefs, she was grateful for the way Jafar had pulled her behind his body while greeting the man, no matter what image Jafar had intended to present with the movement.

But to emotions that Jasmine could only strangely classify as fear, she'd been presented to a different bedroom than the one she'd expected to share with her husband. Attempting to argue this with Jafar, who had been surprised himself by this idea but then had moved on (besides, it was only the room next to his own), had been pointless as he'd told her to stop behaving like a child, that he had business to attend to and to go meet the women of the palace.

Jasmine had been initially excited by the idea of meeting some female companions, due to the unfortunate lack of them back home – the only other women in the palace tended to be maids, and there was no female friend that she could confide secrets and wishes to. But as she'd stepped into the women's day room, and felt the cool, sharp gaze of the women enclosed study her, Jasmine felt rather uncomfortable and sat quietly on a tuffet in the corner, gazing quietly out the window at the pretty, perfectly trimmed garden. Jafar had taught her a little of the Chinese language on their travel over (because, as he had explained, he had more important things to do than act as a translator), but she did not feel confident in the language to initate a conversation, and with the behaviour glowing from the women, she was not sure that she wanted to initate one anyway.

Then she had felt several swift moments beside her, and looked up to see a pretty, young Chinese girl sitting next to her, appearing no older than Jasmine herself, drapped in a similar gown but in emerald green. "Jasmine, is it?" she asked, confidently but slowly, "I am Mei, it is nice to meet you."

Jasmine offered a small smile, grateful that one of the ladies had spoken to her and broken the nervous silence, no matter how cool Mei's tone was. "Nice to meet you, too," she said carefully, selecting the appropriate words that Jafar had practised with her. "Are you the Queen?"

"The Queen?" Mei repeated, then to Jasmine's surprise, broke into a high-pitched laugh behind an elegant hand, sparking the interest of the other women. She calmed quickly, but her eyes still twinkled with amusement. "Ah, no, my dear; the Queen does not associate herself with us, and we do not associate ourselves with her."

"Why not?"

"Why?" Another woman piped up, her voice mocking, and Jasmine wondered insultingly if the ladies were going to repeat everything she asked. "Look at us, child; is it not obvious?"

And the woman waved her hand to indicate herself and the others, and Jasmine suddenly looked at them properly – out of the eight women or so in the room, at least six of them were pregnant, wearing cool gowns that covered their bodies more gently than what appeared to be the traditional dress. Feeling a sick feeling come up within her at the rememberence of tales of other palaces in Arabia, Jasmine turned her eyes away from them and refocused nervously on Mei. "Are these... these aren't all of the King's children, are they... to be born?"

A sneer crossed Mei's otherwise pretty face. "The Queen is rather useless..." she commented. "So the King has hired us instead... I don't understand why this is such a surprise to you, I'm sure your husband has plently of concubines of his own."

A small part of Jasmine want to laugh at the idea, but the shock she felt killed the laughter instantly. "No... no, he doesn't have any."

Mei kept her face expression-free, but she could not keep the amusement and hint of disdain out of her voice as she studied Jasmine. "That's a shame... a shame for him, that is."

*

Jasmine crept out of her darkened bedroom in the middle of the night and slipped quietly into the room next to hers, silently opening the door and closing it behind her again, facing the near pitch-black bedroom that she knew resembled her own. "Are you awake?"

"I am now," she heard Jafar reply from somewhere in the room, his voice tired from sleep. "What is it?"

"Can I..." Jasmine shyly stumbled over her words, aware of how ridiculous her request was sounding. "I mean, can I...?"

Jafar sighed in the darkness, and then she heard the rustle of sheets. "Come on, then."

Her heart lightened ever so softly, Jasmine spent a minute or two feeling her way through the room, until she reached the bed, where she slipped under the sheets that Jafar held up for her, feeling like when she was a child and would cuddle up into her father's bed when she had had a nightmare. She allowed herself a small sigh of relief as she felt Jafar gather her against his chest, his arm snaking around her stomach in it's usual position, but could still feel the heavy question lurking in her mind and knew she had to ask it before Jafar fell asleep once more.

"Jafar?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you... I mean, are there..."

"Spit it out, girl!"

Jasmine closed her eyes tightly, against her embarrassment. "Do you keep other women in the palace, besides me?" She spoke quickly, so fast that her words seemed to mesh together, but the silence that followed told Jasmine that Jafar had understood her question, though it was a few moments before he answered.

"What sort of idiotic, stupid question is that?" The snarl was evident in his voice and sleepiness gone, but for Jasmine, for once, the familiar snarl was a source of comfort. "Of course not! Where did you get such an idea?"

"The concubines here," Jasmine whispered softly, and then she felt Jafar's sudden, forced breath against the back of her head, blowing out sharply.

"Ah," he murmured, the snarl gone now, and just when she began to think that he had fallen asleep again despite her question, she felt his lips press against the side of her head, the gently snaking of his fingers stroking her thigh in what she felt was a reassuring manner, but knew that he probably didn't intend for it to be. "'Mine, some... well, most... rulers in Arabia have a similar arrangement; they have their Queens, but then they have their, what we shall call, friends? But the palace of Agrabah doesn't."

"We don't?" she questioned, her eyes drifting closed calmy against his breath on her ear and the feeling of his hand against her thigh and hip.

"No, we don't. Your grandfather used to have such friends when he ruled, but your father doesn't and I certaintly do not. Can you honestly see either one of us like that?"

Jasmine couldn't help the smile that flickered across her face now at the idea; her father would mostly likely be far more interested in his childish toys and Jafar would probably be completely bewildered at the idea, before throwing them back out into the city. "No, I can't."

"Then why ask such stupid questions?" Jafar asked, his voice quieter now, and the slightly dangerous tone to his voice sent a shiver through her body, as did the movement of him gasping her leg and swinging it back over his hip, still stroking her thigh lightly.

"I..." Jasmine trailed off, knowing what had forced her to ask it but the reason seeming to be completely irrelvant now as she focused on the feeling of his hands on her skin. "What are you doing?"

"Proving to you," and Jasmine uncontrollably groaned as she felt Jafar slip into her, feeling her body stretch and wrap itself around him, "that you _are _my only woman in the palace."

For several moments they stayed this way in near silence, the heaviness of Jafar's breathing and the Jasmine's gentle cries cutting through the quiet, as he moved inside her slowly, pressing her body tightly against his own, his hand from on her stomach beginning to wander.

Jasmine, lost in a part of her mind that she had surrended herself over to, had nearly forgotten that they had even spoken when she heard his raggered voice. "I meant what I said eariler – you do look lovely in your little Chinese dress."

She reached up and felt for Jafar's face, pressing her lips hurriedly against his own.

"Jafar, shut up."

* * *

_TBC_


	12. Precious

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: I've decided to continue on with just J&J for now, Aladdin will be returning into the story but at a far later date. Thank you to both of you for the suggestions as to where the story could head and for the ever wonderful reviews! Enjoy the next installment, where things suddenly become more... interesting from Jafar's angle._

_Foxfire – kimonos are the Japanese dress, the one that Jasmine wears is a traditional stiff Chinese dress ( won't let me put links in here, but a Google search for Chinese dresses will come up with pretty much exactly what she wears, if that helps)._

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

When it came down to things, Jafar had summarised that he and Jasmine had very little in common. But by the third evening, he'd submitted himself into finding something that they did hold together – a nagging feeling that travelling to China had been an exceptionally bad idea. He knew Jasmine had felt this feeling as soon as they'd reached the palace, and at the time, he'd forced her in because of the possibility of giving the Chinese royals a bad impression of him. But now, Jafar was beginning to agree with her, due to sinister reasons that truly eclipsed the darkest feelings that he could have about anything.

It wasn't like he'd never visited before; Jafar had met with the previous ruler, who he'd rather gotten along with but at the time, he'd only been the Grand Vizier and held little weight. But he'd hadn't had a, well, significant other to bring with him, and this was what he felt was the bad idea – he felt as if they had been thrown into a game together with a certain third player, and he knew that if he didn't play his cards correctly, he and Jasmine would both well and truly lose.

In a way, he realised that if it was just him to lose, it would be no big deal. Besides, as Jafar believed, when you've already lost everything that you held precious, what more was there to lose? But for every bit of nothing that he had, Jasmine had something. And in the deepest depths of his heart, the part that was beginning to question his own sanity, he would be damned before Jasmine lost any more than what he'd taken from her.

Sitting in a plush armchair, he studied the stupid, little, fat man over the edge of his wine glass, as he went on and on about such relations that China and Arabia could have. He seemed oblivious to the look of the equal mix of disinterest and uncertaintly on Jafar's face, both lost in their own thoughts.

Yes, the two countries could have excellent relations. But Jafar wondered if the price to pay for that relationship was too high to pay, and this question was met with another reasounding mental _yes_.

He'd already sold one lover for his country, and it had brought him nothing but hated, bitterness and regret.

And Jasmine was quickly turning into his second lover, one that Jafar felt that he could do the only decent thing he could towards her – protect her. Only weeks ago he would've sent her away if she'd come to him in the middle of the night for nothing more than an embrace; he would've told her to go and fight her own battles, knowing that she did not have the equipment to do so. It nearly shamed him with the knowledge that when she'd originally asked him to take her on his trips away, he'd snapped that he was not her protector, that he was not responsible for her.

But now, at least for the last two nights, Jasmine had come to him despite everything that he was towards her, for reassurance to know that he would not allow anything to happen to her. And when the clear dawn of morning came, Jafar had no regrets about this promise to her, even if this promise was born out of nothing other than being the faithful husband that he knew he was damn well capable of being. Which was more than he could say for most men in Arabia, let alone the man that sat opposite him now.

Zhuang had since moved on from the topic of a friendship between the countries and now discussed, with a look in his eyes that Jafar could only describe to be as sick pleasure, the idea of adding another concubine to his selection of toys. The flicker of a smile danced across Jafar's face at the word 'toy' – how King Zhuang and the Sultan of Agrabah had such different views of that word.

But to his horror, Zhuang seemed to stretch his smile a little more across his sweat-pooled face at Jafar's quick smile, and Jafar realised that his amusement had been massively misread. "Ah, so you have considered one," Zhuang suggested now. "Apparently, your pretty little thing mentioned that you don't have one."

"That would be correct," Jafar commented slowly, hoping he was keeping his tone of voice neutral, surprised at himself at the rage that had built up inside him – Jasmine was _not_ a _thing_.

"Why would you not want one?" Zhuang questioned, genuinely confused despite his creepy smile. "My dear boy, you've been married for over a year and yet no heir... is she not up to standard?"

Jafar ground his teeth together, trying to bring himself to ignore the final part of the king's question. "Whether we wish to have a child or not is entirely up to her."

And indeed, it was. To be honest, Jafar had the talk of Agrabah citizens below his tower, had heard them questioning when Jasmine was going to hurry up and produce a child for the city, as if she was only in their eyes some baby-making machine, and he wanted to kick the lot of them out of Agrabah – the only reason why he didn't was that he wouldn't have anyone to rule over if he did. Frankly, while Jafar understood that if they didn't eventually have a child there would be no one left to carry on the royal line, he wasn't all that thrilled about the idea – besides, he was nearly forty now, and at this rate, Jafar felt that he would be old to be a father.

And Jasmine was only seventeen, for Allah's sake. While he knew that so many girls in Arabia would've already had their first by her age, a small part of Jafar felt considerable guilt for taking away much of her innocence already, but this small part was just big enough to care. Jafar knew that if Jasmine asked him for a child, he would not stand in her way; but never would he approach the subject with her.

Zhuang seemed to find Jafar's statement rather amusing. "Why should it be up to her? You are her ruler, are you not?"

Jafar carefully sat his empty glass on the table beside him, focusing his fury into the action, rather than attempting to take it out in an obvious display. "I rule her city, but she's her own person."

The other man shrugged. "That's what they like to believe... she should count herself lucky, there are many men out there who would have other plans for her." Then he shrugged, smiled and bowed slightly to Jafar. "I believe it's time to retire,I wish you a pleasant sleep."

Jafar watched as Zhuang left the room easily, waited a few minutes, then stalked out after him, his fury and fear evident in each step.

*

Jasmine sat up as her door opened, allowing the crack of light from the corridor sweep into the room quickly before being shut off again. She'd yet to have fallen asleep, patiently waiting for the darkness to appear under the door before slipping off into Jafar's room. But now it appeared that he had come to her, and this idea filled her with a dark sense of excitement.

"Jafar?" she questioned when there was no noise, no apparent movement towards the bed, and she frowned. "Jafar, are you – "

There was a strike of the match, then candlelight flooded the room. She adjusted to the sudden light, then her eyes fell upon her husband, and she shrunk back against the pillows.

Jafar's face was calm. Absolutely deadly calm, and she felt a shiver of fear replace her excitement as he suddenly grabbed her Chinese dress and nearly threw it on top of her. "Get up, Jasmine," he snapped in an ordering voice, but strangely, not one of anger. "We're leaving. Now."

Jasmine watched him in confusion as he started throwing her things into their travelling bags, not bothering to pack properly in his usual fashion. "But what about – "

"It no longer matters," he replied, then turned to see her still sitting up in bed. "Jasmine! Get dressed!" he nearly shouted, his face twisted into the fury and fear that had followed his footsteps.

Still uncertain but concerned by the urgency in his voice, Jasmine crawled out of bed and began to change. "Jafar, I don't under – "

She cut off now by Jafar suddenly walking over to her, and she watched as his face struggled to remain calm, before suddenly pressing his lips to hers. Jasmine had only the briefest of seconds to close her eyes – he'd only ever kissed her with desperation and heavy passion, and now, at such an unusual moment, he kissed her with such tenderness that she'd only dreamed she could pull out of him. Jasmine had believed that she would be more successful in drawing blood from a stone.

But before she could reveal in it, he pulled away as suddenly as he'd reached in. "And I do not expect you to," he finished for her, his voice breathless, as he yanked his cloak off from around his shoulders and wrapped it around her instead. "I'll explain later. But just this once, do as I say, 'mine. Please."

_He never says please_, Jasmine thought dumbly, before nodding and helping Jasmine gather her things together. But it wasn't until they'd left her room when they came across what she wondered might be the source of his uncharacteristic behaviour – Zhuang walking towards them, as silently as a panther, but then he stopped short at the sight of them, the smug smile on his face moving into a confused frown. "Jafar, what is happening here?"

"We're leaving," Jafar declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"What, now?"

"What about your things?" Jasmine whispered, bewildered, as Jafar suddenly clenched her against his side, walking quickly past the king.

"Doesn't matter."

"You can't just leave!" she heard Zhuang shout behind them. "It's nearly midnight! Where do you intend on going at this hour? Jafar!"

But Jafar wasn't responding, as he led her quickly out of the palace and towards the stables, where he knew his horses were being kept. But he believed that it would be much faster to get away with just the one horse, so he swung Jasmine high onto the horse's back, thrusting her things into her arms and throwing himself on top behind her, one arm wrapped safely around his wife and the other one clutching onto the horse's mane.

And he would've taken them off then and there, if it wasn't for Jasmine tilting her head back against his chest, staring upwards at his taunt face, and he brought himself to look down at her face, her eyes teary with fear and confusion. "Where are we going?" she asked quietly, her voice only a little higher than whisper.

"Jasmine, it doesn't matter. I love..."

Jafar trailed off as he realised what he was about to utter, unsure with himself that he could not believe what he was going to say. And yet, he couldn't ignore the light that seemed to warm Jasmine's face from inside at his almost-words, as if she could hardly dare believe herself about what he was going to say.

And despite himself, he swallowed hard.

"It doesn't matter," he confirmed, his voice now as quiet as hers, as he kicked the horse hard in the side, taking off into the night.

* * *

_TBC_


	13. Tears

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter, the flu is a nasty virus. Chapters may come out a little bit slower now, as they are slowly becoming a little more delicate to write, but this story marches on! This is now the edited version of this chapter, with thanks from the suggestion of Madame's._

_Foxfire – we will get to hear more about this past lover, stay tuned for the next few chapters... but no flashback as such. If anyone has questions about the story, please continue to ask in the reviews, as I will always answer with the following chapter._

_Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, it's great to read everyone's viewpoints on how each chapter progresses and of course on J&J, rather than just an 'update soon'; it's really very special to read your interpretations and ideas, and I always look forward to reading them, and thanks to the many other people who are following this story silently, I hope you are enjoying it also._

_Finally, a big thanks to Nerio, Tara and Mrs Quincy for your reviews on 'This Tiger's Secret', glad you enjoyed that one as well, as more depressing as it was than this story. It won't be continued ,just a little bitty I decided to write but didn't really fit in here._

_Enjoy! _

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

In the brightness of day, Jasmine watched the white ceiling of the tent flap gently in the breeze, causing ripples in the soft fabric. She felt, through the makeshift bed, the waves of sand underneath the fabric, the movement of the sand shifting the tent ever so slightly, allowing the fabric to stay comfortable and relaxed.

Jasmine was anything but.

On her own inside the tent – in the midday heat, she'd not dare go outside – Jasmine fought back tears, but slowly they made their way down her cheeks, little glittering dots of confetti against her cinnamon skin. Now that she was alone, she could let them fall, and what felt so stupid to her was that she wasn't entirely sure why the tears were coming; she wondered if it was the heavy confusion she felt in their midnight runaway, or the feeling of something sweet and warm coming so close to her, only to be cruelly ripped away.

Jasmine sat up slowly, a little hungry but the food appeared to be outside the tent. She couldn't hear any noise outside, only the quiet wind dancing across the sand. Jafar didn't seem to have returned yet – she was uncertain how far away they were now, how far they had come since leaving so suddenly, but when dawn had begun to creep up over the horizon, Jafar had set up camp as always and instructed her to sleep, as he had to return to the Chinese palace for his things. And that by the time she'd awake, he'd have returned.

But the sun was high in the sky now – she could feel it, even through the long hair that she'd allowed to cover her face – and he wasn't here. And perhaps that was a good thing, as it would give her the chance to get a grip on her emotions before facing him.

If only she knew what those emotions were.

Out of them, Jasmine could pick confusion, but in a way, she knew that she wasn't upset about that – surely Jafar had his reasons for dragging her off at whatever bizarre time of night that they had left. And on the ride back out in the desert, in order to break the silent tension, she'd asked why they were leaving. He said he would explain later, but all he'd done was drop her off in the middle of nowhere and disappear again. But despite his reassuance, Jasmine was sure that he wouldn't explain – just something else on the long list of things he wouldn't explain –due to his tone of voice, a tone that by now she knew all too well; a tone she was quickly growing tired of listening to.

No, it wasn't confusion, for she could name it and understand why it was there – yes, she was frustrated by it, frustrated by him, but it wasn't bringing the sadness that encouraged the tears to fall.

Jasmine sniffed loudly through the sparkling confetti – unladylike, but who cared when there was no-one around to hear her, or berate her for doing something so childish as crying. No, it was the feeling of something she wanted finally coming towards her, only to be ripped away at the possible last moment. All he had had to say was one little word, just one word, but he hadn't. And he had come so damn annoyingly close, only to rip it away at the last possible moment. Words had been spoken that she'd waited for months to hear now, unsure if they were ever coming and unsure if he was even capable of muttering such a phrase, only to know now that he could and for him then not to say it was just...

Was just...

Jasmine didn't even try to stop the tears now, tears that acknowledged the emotions in her heart, now that she knew those emotions were true. But she also knew that this emotion had been lurking for awhile now, it just needed to be spoken aloud. And the fact that Jafar had nearly spoken it for her was excruitating.

_So why don't you just say it?_

Jasmine felt a shudder travel through her body at the idea, and a small voice told her how hypocritical she was being. No, she couldn't say it, she couldn't even imagine turning to Jafar and blurting it out. It wasn't as if he was going to tip her back and kiss her lovingly, or suddenly whisk her away as a prince on a white horse, or do anything remotely passionate. She was sure that if she did say it, things would just be awkward and as unromantic as things could come.

So why did she expect things to play out any differently if he had said it?

And why could she say it (or at least, could've) to Aladdin back home, and now when she realised that she would truly mean it, she felt horrified at the idea?

Jasmine thought numbly at the expression she'd told herself, so long ago now, when she'd discovered who she was married to – have no expectations, and she wouldn't be disappointed. So when had she gained expectations?

And with the sounds of a horse outside and the soft thuds of footsteps on the sand outside the tent, Jasmine realised the the expectations weren't going anywhere.

She squinted against the harsh light that came through the tent's flaps of a door, then stared up from her sitting position at Jafar.

"Ah, hello... are you alright?"

Jasmine felt herself blush at the idea of what she looked like right now – pathetic, her eyes red, with tears glistening on her face. She pressed one hand tightly against her face, as if being able to scrub away the tear tracks. "Fine... how did it go?"

"Spectacular," he drawled, then glared at the depressed expression on his wife's face. "How do you think it went, woman?!" he nearly shouted, ignoring the flinch that crossed Jasmine's features, and allowed the tent fabric to fall back into place.

Jasmine stared at the fabric, before sighing heavily and drawing her knees up to her chest. "Just asking," she whispered to herself. She'd rarely allowed his anger to get to her before now.

She looked up at the sound of his voice outside. "Are you sure there's nothing wrong?" he called, his voice calmer again but she could still detect a hint of annoyance. "I don't want you to say there isn't, only to complain later."

Well, if he was asking, then she'd tell him.

Jasmine crawled out of the tent, cringing against the harsh heat hitting her face, and spotted Jafar a few feet stood slowly, brushing the sand off her body. "Why did we leave in a hurry last night? You said you would tell me why," she asked calmly, but could not keep the coldness out of her voice.

Jafar frowned slightly at her, then shrugged. "It's not necessary for you to know."

"I don't care if it's not necessary!" Jasmine suddenly shouted, feeling the sadness that had brought the tears quickly escalate to anger, in sheer frustration of her emotions and him, but feeling the tears well up in her eyes again, much to her disappointment. "I just want you to tell me, to stop going back on your word!"

The figures in the desert froze – one bewildered as to what she was saying, the other bewildered that she had said it. Jasmine watched him carefully as her words sunk in – the sudden stillness, the breath in as to give speech to his words but never quite making it, the way his eyes widened with surprise, uncertaintly and... pleading?

And then his usual demeanor slide down over his face, destroying human emotions on it's way, and she bit her lip against the sneer on his own. "Jasmine, calm yourself. What are you referring to?" he asked, his voice slow, calm and torturing.

"You go to tell me things..." Jasmine near-whispered, her voice just as slow, but desperate. "But you never make it there. You promise to tell me things, but you never say them in the end. You begin to say something but you never..." _you start to say that you love me, but you don't finish._

"There are some things that in the light of day, don't need to be said, that are irrelevant. And then with some things..."

Time seemed to stand still, the only things that seemed to move was the wind fluttering Jasmine's hair against her face, hiding her away from the uncomfortable study of his eyes on her.

"Then with some things," Jafar repeated quietly, "that shouldn't need to be spoken... that though actions, you should already know."

Jasmine faltered in her anger, and moved slightly towards him, noting the way that he moved slightly away in an identical fashion. "But I'd still like to hear them, Jafar..."

She watched as Jafar bent his head, his eyes darting over each little grain of sand at his feet, and then to her surprise, the sneer returned to his face, though he did not look back up at her. "Well, if you need everything explained to you like a child, then maybe we shoud've stayed... I'm sure Zhuang would've been more than pleased to show you..."

Jasmine studied him carefully, unsure of where to tread now, sensing the atmosphere change to something darker and uncertain. "What do you...?"

She froze as Jafar stalked towards her with fire in his eyes, then whimpered softly as he wrapped his fingers tightly around her wrist, feeling the pain shoot up through her body. Jasmine lowered her gaze to wear their touch met, not wanting to glance up at his ugly expression. "You wanted to know, my wife, so I'll tell you," he spat. "Zhuang wanted to keep you there, to add you to his little collection of whores. Because I deemed you not to be such an ugly term, I removed you from his clutches. But perhaps if you wanted further information, there's a high price to pay."

Jasmine felt her body shake in fear at his words, desperately not wanting to believe them. "You're lying."

"No, I'm not. But if you don't believe me, maybe I can take you back, allow you to find out for yourself."

In disgust, she wrenched her arm away from him, her eyes narrowing as her eyes met his. She could fear the anger lurking behind hers, and his held none of the quietness that had been there before; instead, there was only sick amusement there now. And now it was her turn to struggle to find the words to speak, because the words that threatened to leap out were the three words that seemed so right but so ridiculously wrong all at the same time, but the emotions to speak them was running strongly through her veins. And in the small, sane part of her mind right now, she knew she had to speak words that she could later take back.

"I hate you."

Jafar let her move around him, and it was only when she was several meters away that he called out behind her, in a strangled voice: "Where on earth are you going? You stupid girl, I wasn't – "

"I don't care!" came the answering shout, as she began to walk further away from him, refusing to look back over her shoulder. "I'm going away from you, I'm going back home!"

"You can't _walk _all the back to Agrabah!"

"What do you care? I can try!"

Jafar watched for a long time until Jasmine's figure turned into little more than a dark shadow on the horizon, refusing to turn around, then turned around himself in anger, accidentally kicking and sending Jasmine's pack over the sand, slamming against the tent, causing it to collaspe.

*

It was only after Jasmine's hatred had evaporated that she realised how far she had travelled. Without food, or water, or any provisions. And with the sun beginning to lower itself in the sky, she realised that it wouldn't be long until dusk settled across the desert, and despite herself, she couldn't be entirely sure that Jafar might leave without her.

And he was right, she couldn't walk back to Agrabah. It was humanly impossible.

She raised her face to the quickly fading blue above her, tears gone now, and screamed at the top of her lungs, to no one in particular and thanking Allah that he was probably just far enough away not to hear it, either, before turning away and walking back in defeat towards camp.

_

* * *

_

_TBC_


	14. Leila

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: Hooray for two chapters in as many days, the ideas for this chapter was flowing as I was writing the last one (and I think this might be the longest chapter yet)._

_Pen, you made me burst out laughing :)__ don't worry, none of that happens! And the story is moving on to London now, chapters I've been wanting to write since the beginning of this crazy story... but ah, Toad face... excellent name!_

_Madame, thank you kindly for the heads up about the cursing, I liked that idea in my mind but probably didn't sound so right when written. There's now an edited version of chapter thirteen up, replacing the old._

_Thank you all for past reviews and those hopefully coming, you know I love them, as I hope you love this chapter and the things we learn in it..._

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

After living amongst the desert flowers her entire life, the snow and biting cold of England's winter had come something of a shock to Jasmine's system. But now, as she clasped her hands around a steaming cup of tea, and watching the white snow drift down the tall windows, she wasn't sure what she preferred.

England, or the house they were staying, or the company that were keeping them... she was uncertain as to what was slowly clutching a hold of her heart, but the longer they remained in London, the more certain that Jasmine was that she did not wish to return home. And to her relief, judging by the small, genuine smile that had slipped out as they travelled across the countryside in the carriage, Jafar seemed to share the sentiment.

The marvellous experience of travelling by carriage across Europe had mostly made up for the disaster of a trip by horse along the Silk Road, with Jasmine warming up to the cold countries quite quickly, and who could say no to such places they travelled though such as Vienna and Paris on the way, with grand streets and stores so different to those thrown together haphazardly in Agrabah; the handsomely dressed men and beautifully gowned women in dresses of so many colours; the incredible churches with perfect statues of people she'd never heard of from other religions.

And when Jafar had purchased the gorgeous violet and white dress for her in Vienna, so she wouldn't stand out so much, Jasmine felt like one of them, and yet her own person, as a shopkeeper had commented on how pretty her exotic features were. And then she could hardly complain at the sight of Jafar in a dark, handsome suit, and hadn't realised that she was gawking until he'd snapped that her staring with a mouth open was decidedly unattractive.

Jafar... the only part of the mess in China that still hanged over their heads echoed around their carriage, in unspoken words and unexplained movements, like when Jasmine had awoken in the carriage to find her head on his shoulder and his arm around her shoulders, with no obvious attempt from him to push her away. Actions that made her realise that he hadn't truly meant it when he said he ought to take her back to the Chinese ruler, that the words had only been spoken in anger, as her own had. And yet, she felt as if words between them would go nowhere now, would only cause more anguish, and so Jasmine faced a choice – push for what she needed to hear and face the arguments and hatred to get there, or be calm and trusting in the silence and actions.

She had decided, for at least the meantime, that the latter would be alright and probably more survivable, but in her heart she knew, that it was only truly for the meantime.

And so, Jasmine had turned her attentions to the world outside her window, to the wonderful dotted landscapes that flashed past, to the sky-reaching Swiss Alps that they travelled through. Without a doubt, Paris had become her favourite city of all they had entered and left – true, she loved Vienna for its churches and beautiful music, but she loved Paris for its romanticism. She had been disappointed to only stay there for the one evening, but as they had walked along one of many streets, she'd felt Jafar's hand at the small of her back and the ease of his voice in her ear, letting her know that they could always return to Paris in the future, and that London was only a short boat trip across the channel, another trip that Jasmine was delightfully awaiting.

And considering the coolness of the English on their boat, Jasmine had been surprised and pleased by the warmth of Jafar's friends who had greeted them when they had docked – he'd introduced them as his old Arabian friend Harun, his English wife Elsa and young son Friedrich. Jasmine had been surprised by the friendless of Elsa's embrace, despite the physical perfection she radiated, and the easy smile Harun offered her, his comfort in greeting Jasmine in this country but aware of Arabic customs.

But she hadn't acquired deaf ears, as Elsa had led her and their son to her carriage, she could hear the men behind her:

"She's younger than you suggested in your letters. And she's an awful lot prettier than – "

"Harun, don't compare."

Jasmine had watched the two in the trip to the family's home in the countryside – if she hadn't known Jafar better, she wouldn't have thought Harun and Jafar were friends, or even knew one another; Harun would attempt to encourage Jafar in conversation, but in his usual standoffish way, Jafar would refuse to answer questions, but there was still a friendliness in the cabin. Intrigued by both of their actions, Jasmine dared to ask.

"Harun?"

"Yes, my dear?" Harun asked, the smile on his lips matching the cheerful wrinkles around his eyes, giving her his full attention.

"How do you know Jafar?"

Harun turned to Jafar in surprise, who had suddenly found the outside world very interesting. "Jafar, have you told her anything?" Unsurprisingly, he received no response, and Harun sighed before returning to Jasmine. "My dear, we were together in the Arabian Army several years ago – I was a major, and Jafar was my captain below me."

Captain Jafar.

The idea of it would've made Jasmine burst out laughing, if it hadn't been so surprising. She turned to face him, and though he continued to stare out the window, she could see his jaw clench as Harun continued on easily. "And an excellent captain he was too, no-one wanted him to leave." Harun sighed again. "But a man must follow..."

He trailed off at Elsa's grip on his hand, the grip that told him to remain quiet, to change the subject.

Jasmine continued to look in interest at Jafar. She wondered if him being in the army explained any part of his personality – the coolness, the arrogance, the way he ran things. And despite finding the title of Captain Jafar to be amusing, she could rather imagine him leading dozens of young soldiers out to battle. Jasmine bit on her lip lightly as she felt the blush creep across her cheeks, and was grateful for their company to be chatting with one another now as she considered the idea of Jafar as a captain.

It was rather romantic.

She started when Jafar then turned to her, causing her face to colour further, but as she opened her mouth to ask him why he'd left the army, he shook his head ever so slightly, his eyes unreadable. It wasn't the angry look that he had when she asked him too many questions, and it wasn't the pleading look that he had when he attempted to find some other answer to her questions. It was just a look that no one else would possibly read anything into, but Jasmine knew. It was too delicate a question, to which an answer could not be fabricated. To please not ask the question, as he didn't have any room for past heartache.

And so, Jasmine didn't ask.

*

Several days before Christmas, Elsa announced that each year, she held a Christmas ball for the people of the town, and that she would be delighted for Jafar and Jasmine to be her guests of honour.

While Jafar's disapproved and begrudging agreement to this idea had been expected, Jasmine had been excited by the idea. She hadn't celebrated Christmas before – their religion did not call for the holiday – nor had her father ever thrown any dances before. At Elsa's description of pretty couples dancing, Jasmine warmed up to the idea a great deal and began to look forward to it, and the idea explained Jafar's annoyance – she couldn't imagine him having fun at a party until she saw it for herself.

And so, while the men had gone to deal with what Jafar called 'personal business' but had given no further explanation for, Elsa had taken Jasmine out to buy her a suitable gown – the dresses that Jafar had brought for Jasmine were certainly beautiful, but Elsa had explained that they were not really dresses one would wear to a ball. And so she'd taken Jasmine to the heart of London, where Jasmine had been hit by dresses of all colours and fabrics, jewellery that sparkled in the sunlight and pretty shoes that always seem to fit her foot perfectly. For every beautiful item of clothing that Jasmine loved, she'd quietly turn to the scaled down version until Elsa would turn her back to the more extravagant, refusing to look at prices.

So on the trip back to the house, Jasmine stared guiltily at the packages on the seat opposite them, at a loss to know how much Elsa had spent on just one outfit for her, for just one party. "Elsa..." Jasmine mumbled quietly. "You really shouldn't have spent so much money..."

Elsa looked at Jasmine in surprise, a small smile crossing her perfect face. "Oh, I didn't spend anything – your husband gave me enough money to buy out all the dress stores in London and told me that you only deserve the very best."

At this, Jasmine turned to study the outside, as Jafar had done over the uncomfortable topic of him in the army, feeling her shyness turn slowly into embarrassment, but knew that if anyone outside could see her now, that they'd see her eyes shining. Maybe this was what he meant when he said that some things, he didn't need to say; she could thank him, but she knew he'd probably deny having done this for her, or at worst, not say anything at all.

She could only hope that when he saw her at the ball, that he would think that it was worthwhile. That he might finally say it.

*

"Jasmine, darling, come sit with me."

Jasmine turned away from the window now, her cup of tea in hands, a small frown on her face. The second carriage hadn't arrived yet back at the house, and she wondered what was keeping Jafar away on his business.

"He'll be back soon, they will, I'm sure," Elsa called to her, from one of the soft armchairs near the crackling fireplace. "I think the snow may have held them up a little, no one would stay out at night in this weather."

Despite her, Jasmine smiled gently at her friend, and went to take the second armchair. "I suppose so."

It felt nice to be able to call Elsa her friend. After the rudeness of the women in China, Jasmine had hoped the women in London were going to be nicer to her, and she wasn't disappointed. She figured Elsa had to be a good ten years old then herself, but she seemed only too happy to take her shopping and spend time with her, causing Jasmine to feel rather socially awkward. But Jasmine was certain that she could call Elsa her friend, and it felt as if a load was removed from her shoulders, that she felt she didn't have to carry burdens of being a woman on her shoulders alone.

Elsa watched the young girl's face as the Queen reached for a biscuit on a nearby plate. Jasmine had seemed to be frustrated when she'd told her that Jafar had brought the gown, and Elsa couldn't place her finger on why. She'd seemed more embarrassed rather than the pleasure Elsa had expected to see on her face at the comment, and vaguely wondered what sort of marriage the girl had signed her life away to, with what sort of love. She wondered if Jasmine even knew there was love. "Darling... it's sweet that you're waiting for him; he loves you, you know."

Jasmine nearly dropped her biscuit and tea at the sudden remark, and felt her face turn bright red. To think that there might be love between them was embarrassing enough just thinking about it on her own; for someone else other than themselves was just humiliating. English customs was so different to those back home; there, people would not dare bring up a sacred relationship with someone in one, but Elsa thought nothing of asking. And when she wasn't certain that Jafar felt that way... "I'm not sure, Elsa... he's never said it..." Well, he'd never finished saying it, and that was the same thing to her.

Her friend closed her eyes, a smile crossing her face, leaning her neatly arranged blonde hair against the back of the chair. "That may be so, but he doesn't necessarily have to. Besides, this is Jafar here; from what I understand, he only told Leila it once or twice, and that was fine with her."

There was a moment's silence, an uncomfortable silence, in which Elsa wondered if she'd made her common mistake of saying too much. She was quickly proven correct when the small voice spoke up, shaky and nervous. "Who's Leila?"

Elsa inwardly cursed herself, and then opened her eyes to meet Jasmine. The young girl's face was pale, and her eyes appeared uncertain and a little scared. "Jafar's not mentioned her, has he?"

Jasmine swallowed tightly. She was certain that she wouldn't want to know answers to her questions, but she'd had enough of Jafar mentioning something and then never following it up, she'd be damned if someone else was going to do the same to her. But the idea that Jafar couldn't tell her that he loved her, but could tell someone else... "No, he hasn't," she replied, her voice a little short.

The blonde woman looked nervously down at her hands, and sighed deeply. "Well, he hadn't told you about being in the army, so I'm not sure why I'm at all surprised that he hasn't told you about Leila."

Jasmine's voice was very quiet now. "Is she why he left the army?"

"I shouldn't be telling you this," Elsa murmured, staring down at the hands in her lap, wondering what sort of lid she was about to throw open, wondering what sort of secrets was going to erupt as a result. But she couldn't deny the pleading look on Jasmine's face, and so she pulled her armchair a little closer, allowing another sigh as she did so, and dropping her voice to much the quietness of Jasmine's. "I don't know very much, and what I do tell you, you didn't hear from me."

She took Jasmine's silence to be an agreement.

"You're Jafar's second wife. The first was Leila.

She was killed by the Arabian Army, and he turned his back on them."

* * *

_TBC_


	15. Alone

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: And onwards we go... thanks to all my reviewers, readers and lurkers!_

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**Chapter Fifteen**

When Jasmine awoke, she found herself immersed in sheer confusion, enveloped in by her surroundings, and wondered if she'd simply dreamt the entire trip, for she found herself in what she could only think was Agrabah.

Nervously, she slowly sat up in the bed, cradling her strangely-heavy head against her hand, and allowed her eyes to dart slowly around the room – a room that was familiar to her, but all so strange at the same time, as if she had dreamed the room once upon a time, or had seen it at one time as a young child. She struggled to focus her eyes as she took in the surroundings, her head pounding, as if she'd been hit by something incredibly hard and was only now awakening.

The large bed, the plush red chairs around the room, what appeared to maybe be her vanity and mirror, and the long, shimmering curtains blocking the bedroom from the balcony, slowing the harsh summer's morning light from entering the room too strongly. Yes, Jasmine sensed the strong familiarity of the room, with everything in its place, and it frightened her that she could not place it, could not place ever wearing such a short red slip to sleep in, could not place ever sleeping in the bed she sat in at all.

And the area on the bed beside her was still warm, and a gentle smile crossed her lips as she ran her hand along the mattress, along the silk sheets. She pressed her face against the pillows on that side, inhaling the dark, woody scent that lay there, stained with summer sweat and desire. Jasmine knew that she recognised the scent from somewhere, for her heart acknowledged that she loved it, and the scent made her hungry with wanting. But as she sat up again, Jasmine felt a cold ice through her veins, creeping into her bones – yes, she knew that scent, but she couldn't put a face or a body or a voice to it, and she felt the heart of love begun to break into pieces. Who was he, where was he, how long might he be gone?

But before the questions covered her in darkness, Jasmine snapped to attention at the new, unexpected sound from the adjoining room – a baby's cries.

With curiosity overpowering her, she quickly slipped out from under the sheets and picked up a thin, modest robe from a nearby chair, slipping it on comfortably and admiring the way it seemed to know her body, wrapping around her skin. Jasmine drifted slowly across the room, bewildered by the crying but strangely anxious to soothe the sobs into smiles, and she opened a door at the side of her bedroom, a door that she could swear she'd only ever seen bolted shut.

In the bright, sunny room that she entered, decorated plainly in white but beautiful and airy, Jasmine walked towards a fancy crib in the middle of the room, covered in lace and ribbons and positioned so that the small person inside was protected away from the seductive but harmful sun. And when she crept towards the crib and peeked inside, Jasmine felt her heart warm with a strange sort of love, a different kind of love than she felt for the mysterious man she shared her bedroom with, but a love that filled her deep into her core, with warmth that was not radiated by the sun.

The little girl inside stared up at Jasmine with wide, tear-filled eyes, looking plainly exhausted in a simple pink dress, but stopped wailing the instant she saw the woman above her. Jasmine thought that the girl could be no older than three, with short black pigtails tied with pink bows, small chocolate-coloured eyes and fine, coffee skin in contrast to her rosy lips and cheeks. And as the little one kicked her legs, and smiled up at Jasmine with a mostly toothless smile, nothing could stop Jasmine from smiling back at her, with awed wonder at the fact that not only did she had a striking resemblance to her, but also a pale resemblance to a man that she believed she loved.

And then the little one cooed a word that made Jasmine's own eyes go wide in surprise, as she watched the child fling her arms out towards her. "Mamma!"

Jasmine paused for a second, feeling fright that she seemed to be seeing her daughter but with no previous recollection of her, but feeling calm in the knowledge that she now realised why the young one looked so much like herself. And above all, she felt a horrible sense of loss when she realised that the child's name was on the tip of her tongue and yet for the life of her, she could simply not remember what it was. "Hello, sweetheart," she cooed back towards the child, deciding to go with a safe pet name. "How did you sleep?"

"Good..." The girl's attention slowly moved away from her mother as she realised that they were by themselves. "Where is Daddy?"

Jasmine blinked and bit her lip lightly – how could she answer this question, when she could barely remember who he was, the only thing she had of him was his scent. She swallowed tightly and tried to smile reassuringly. "I don't know, sweetheart." And then she took a plunge, "Who is your daddy?"

To her disappointment, the little one start giggling. "You know who Daddy is!" she declared. "You're silly!"

Jasmine sighed, at least she'd tried. But then she smiled a genuine smile at her young daughter, and picked her up in what felt like such a natural motion, a natural thing to do. "Of course I do; Mamma is silly, isn't she?"

But the girl didn't answer, distracted by the sounds of the people outside, the voices combining together and becoming quite loud quite quickly. "Who are they?"

As curious as the child, Jasmine picked her up onto her hip and walked slowly towards the balcony, trying to see through the gauze of the curtains. It seemed as if the open space in front of the palace was crowded with people, with angry voices, and she frowned a little at the sight of the green and white clothed soldiers moving through the crowd, trying to force the people into a quiet protest and punishing those who resisted. Her skin felt clammy as she studied the faces of the soldiers that she could see, knowing that he wouldn't be one of them but worried all the same. And she was grateful for the knowledge that she knew he wouldn't be one of them, because she was disturbed that she still couldn't put a face to the man.

The girl wiggled in Jasmine's arms, impatient and bored. "Mamma, I want to see them, let's go," she confirmed in a voice older than her years.

"I suppose," Jasmine replied, leaving the room with the child and walking quickly down the cool corridors of the palace; the empty corridors, and in a small part of her mind, she was bewildered as to where all the people were – they seemed to be the only two in the entire palace.

And as she walked, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that she'd been warned not to go down to this crowd, that someone had echoed in her mind that it was a bad idea, someone begging her to leave the city where he would meet them. But Jasmine was head-strong; she simply wanted to see what the problem was with the people, and was quietly pleased that this child seemed to have inherited her personality.

They left the palace and walked quickly down the seemingly hundreds of stairs, unaffected by the balmy heat of the morning. As they grew closer to the crowd, the voices grew louder and angrier, and Jasmine pressed her daughter's head to her shoulder, to cover her small ears, and tapped a nearby man on the shoulder.

"What is happening?"

Despite the man's nearly calm face, his voice was quick, raw and frightened, and his eyes grew wide as he saw the child. "You shouldn't be here, it's not safe for you... the army, they're – "

"Jasmine!"

"Daddy!"

Jasmine glanced around with speed towards where her daughter stared, her arms flinging over her mother's shoulder, towards a figure behind them. Jasmine turned to see a man approaching them, but his face was so vague, the voice monotonically calling her name, and she was frightened to know that she couldn't have picked him out of any other man in the crowd. But as the voice continued to speak, she frowned, desperately trying to place it. "Jasmine!" he called again, "What are you doing here?"

Closer now to her, Jasmine had no answer for him, but only a smile as the face pulled into view. She reached up with her free hand, coming so close to cup his cheek, pleased to be able to view through the fog of her memories at last.

And then the screaming began.

The three of them turned in what felt to be a very slow motion, before Jasmine was knocked off her feet by the stampede of people, running from a terror that she couldn't see, but could only just make out the silver of swords against the blue sky, flinging blood over the heads, little specks of crimson sparkling in the sunlight. But then they faded from view as she hit the ground hard, and despite her attempted effort to protect the child, the young one hit her head solidly against the packed dirt before bouncing and resting inhumanly again, unable to open her eyes as a mess of blood soaked her hair and pooled down over her face.

And Jasmine, landing in a similar position to her daughter, was barely able to keep her eyes open herself, with such the heavy pain in her body and behind her face. She could feel the salty tears leaking from her eyes, mingling with the blood and dirt coating her cheeks and forehead, and with effort rolled herself over to stare above, trying to scream for the cracking she heard in her neck as she did so, but feeling no sound coming out of her mouth. And no breath to even give sound. Just feeling the cruel sensation of suffocation, but as if separated from her body, she felt no struggle against it.

But she could see him above her, shaking her shoulders roughly, his face horrified and disgusted towards his soldiers at the same time, desperately trying to bring her around. "Jasmine!" he was shouting now, attempting to keep her awake. "Jasmine, _please_!"

But it was no use, as his face faded away, feeling the sand coating the back of her throat and choking her away slowly, causing her vision to fade into nothingness, but the cries of her name and the shaking of her body became louder and stronger.

And then the hands pushed up behind her back, and Jasmine found herself to be staring into the deep blue of the London bedroom, the only light from the lace curtains blurry with the tears she was shredding. She looked around in front of her wildly, her mind bewildered, and unfocused on the warm hand she felt moving slowly up and down her back.

But the man's voice was still there, though quieter now. "Breathe," she heard him order softly, and slowly, she took in a shuddering breath, feeling the coolness of the room's winter air rush into her lungs, soothing the pain. Jasmine turned towards Jafar slowly, beginning to calm down, but allowing the tears to rush down her face silently. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the racking sobs in her body, and trying to focus on the gentle brush of his hand against her face, gently catching the tears as they dropped off her chin.

Jafar watched her silently as she tried to focus herself, making no attempt to stop himself as he tried to help her calm, and making no attempt to stop admiring the way the moonlight hit the tears on her face, or how pretty she looked as the midnight blue light struck her features. The same light had made her look truly eerie minutes before, as she'd woken him up by accidentally kicking him in her sleep, and he'd watched as she twisted and turned under the covers, mumbling incoherently, her face occasionally relaxing, then replaced by a near painful and disturbed expressions, before relaxing again. He'd thought it was finally safe to sleep again when she'd suddenly screamed a horrible, low, strangled scream, her body seemingly jumping off the bed before he caught her with such swift movements that he'd surprised himself, and had begun to shake her and call her name until she came, too.

But he now had to catch himself as he watched Jasmine's eyes slowly focused to take him in, and upon hearing the softest pitch of the air in her lungs, he pulled his hand quickly away from her face. And while he could stop the caring actions that had taken him over, it took great difficulty to pull himself together vocally, effort he didn't seemingly have yet. "Bad dream?" he enquired, still in the soft voice from before.

Jasmine slowly nodded, not trusting her own voice, and brushed away the remaining tears on her face, feeling utterly ridiculous but in awe that he wasn't scolding her like he usually did for crying like a child. But as she stared at him, knowing now that she was staring at the same Jafar that was in her dream, she recognised herself in the dream as well, recognised herself for who she was supposed to be.

The story was too similar to the one Elsa had told her earlier in the day.

And before Jafar could act, she'd flung herself against him, causing him to slam down on the mattress on his back, Jasmine sprawled across his chest. Unblinkingly in annoyance, he felt more than heard Jasmine's words against his throat. "I'm sorry."

Jafar sighed in frustration and wrapped his hands around her upper arms, pushing her off him so that her long, dark hair swept around their faces like a curtain, and deep in his stomach, his muscles twitched at the perfumed scent of the strands that fell against his face. He closed his eyes briefly, praying that he could pull himself together. "Get a grip on yourself," he ordered, his words meant for himself as equally as they were meant for Jasmine. He opened his eyes, staring into Jasmine's wild ones. "What are you sorry about?"

"Leila. I think I was her... in the dream..."

Jafar groaned inwardly, his fingers releasing Jasmine's arms, and she fell to her side next to him. He and Harun had arrived late in the evening, held up by the sudden snowstorm that had crept up from nowhere, to find Jasmine retired and Elsa tense and on edge. When the men had questioned Elsa what was wrong, Jafar was surprised that his wife had not been woken up by his shouting, his demands to know what had possessed Elsa to take it on herself to fill Jasmine in on his past life. Even now, just thinking about it, he could feel his breath sharpen and grow deeper, in the sheer annoyance and anger that he felt about his life being dumped open for Jasmine, and by someone else.

"Jafar?"

He turned his head towards the timid voice, his eyes being held unwillingly by hers. "Yes?" he asked, his voice strangely husky.

Jasmine bit her lip softly, before continuing. "Why did you not say anything to me?"

Despite himself, he only had honest answers. "I didn't think it was important for you to know... I didn't want you to know."

Jasmine studied his face, recognising that the mental guard was finally down at least for the time being. "What happened?"

He turned his eyes to the ceiling above them – it was easier this way, not to have to look at her. "The city... not Agrabah... were in protest, why exactly I cannot remember and it is irrelevant. I was away on service, not part of the soldiers there that day, and I had told Leila to stay away from the crowds I knew would form." Jafar sighed. "But she was stubborn, curious and determined, much like you."

Besides him, he could nearly feel the small smile that flickered on Jasmine's face.

"And so she wouldn't listen, and she went. But she felt no pain when the protest turned ugly; I was told that she'd been killed instantly by the stampede of people. And that the army had done nothing to save... anyone..."

Jafar felt his breath hitch dangerously now, and Jasmine shrunk away as she watched his fists curl tightly in the covers. When he spoke again, his voice was sharp, but she'd never heard it so shaky before. "Jasmine, don't ask any more questions about her... I can't answer them."

_I can't._

Jasmine felt a sense of relief at the two small words. It wasn't _I won't _or _I refuse_, like he'd often started when he didn't want to tell her something she wanted to know, but it was _I can't_. She wondered how many other times he had wanted to say that instead, and she could only imagine the strength it must take to say it for him, how much desperation had finally collapsed in his mind to say the words willingly. And the tiny words were right behind the three words of love she needed to hear, cementing the hope that behind the walls, there was a real person in there somewhere. The person that she wanted, that she needed.

But now, afraid of breaking the moment, was not the time.

"Jafar?"

Having brought himself back from the edge of depression, Jafar moved onto his side to face his wife. "Yes, 'mine?"

"In the army... is that where you got your scars from? On your chest?"

Jafar thanked Allah for Jasmine's change of topic. "Yes."

"Do they hurt?" she enquired lightly, pressing her fingers lightly over the scars that had been poorly treated initially and as such had formed into deep, red welts across his skin.

"No... they don't hurt..."

But something else hurt, a pleasurable kind of hurt, as Jafar looked down at Jasmine's small hand, then looking up her arm and over her body, covered in a stiff white sleeping gown that did absolutely nothing for her, and made her look like a fine doll, to look at and not touch due to high possibility of breakage.

And he knew that this girl was definitely not a doll, and definitely not breakable. At least, not physically, not through the things he could and did do to her.

Jasmine's eyes felt heavy as she watched the dark look cross his face, the one that she understood all too well by now, a look that she enjoyed. And so she said nothing but allowed herself to be pushed down onto her back, her hair fanning out around her face, and continued to say nothing as she watched Jafar hover above her, his fingers quickly doing away with the seemingly endless buttons on the gown, and then watched as he pulled himself up, looking directly down on her, and Jasmine shifted her legs automatically between his, the familiar sense of wanting creeping throughout her body.

"You look far prettier without this blastered gown, " he offered in way of an explanation, before he pressed his mouth against her own in a savage, deep kiss.

When he heard the low groan creep up over Jasmine's throat and echoing into his ears, he couldn't help but groan feverishly in return.

_

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_

_TBC_


	16. Christmas

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: I've now finally worked out the plot for this little story; rather than knowing the end and then vaguely wondering what might happen in between now and then, this story now has it's plot figured out. As a result, this story is now probably a little over halfway through. Reveal in the currently happier chapters while they're here..._

_Deshwitat – aww thank you sweetie, wonderful of you to say. Glad you're enjoying the story, welcome to the party._

_Penpusher – as for the kid in her dream, whether it's her imagination or whether the child is Leila's... it's a little bit of both. But more on that to be revealed later..._

_And on that note, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Penpusher, who's comment of wondering how Jasmine hasn't become pregnant made me pause and think, as I hadn't thought of that myself yet, and as a result will now be explored._

_As always, thank you to all my readers and the reviewers, and enjoy this chapter._

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**Chapter Sixteen**

When Jasmine woke in the morning (to her relief, in the English home and not trapped within a dream), she ignored the strange clench of muscles in her stomach; instead, she swiftly moved from the empty bed and knelt down against one of her bags on the floor. With a heart that held a small empty hope, she opened the bag and pushed clothing aside, before finding a small, glass bottle. Before glancing behind her to make sure that Jafar was not in the room, she held the bottle up to the morning light, and squinted at it, praying that perhaps the bottle held the clear, fine liquid. Even just a drop or two.

But it was empty, like she knew it would be, and Jasmine also knew that she had a problem.

She'd meant to have told Jafar about this small matter yesterday, as this was the second day that Jasmine had gone for the liquid only to find the bottle empty, and to think that yesterday, she'd been fully intending to tell him. He'd told her back in Agrabah that he'd brought enough ingredients to remix the potion for her, in the very likely scenario that she might run out. A small mouthful per day was all that was necessary, but Jasmine didn't always pay attention to how much she'd swallowed.

Until now, when she should be doing the responsible thing and getting him to make her more of the potion. But he'd left before she'd gained the chance to tell him yesterday, and while she could now hear his voice downstairs, Jasmine wasn't entirely sure she wanted to tell him now anyway.

Not after the dream, and not after seeing the child, who had seemed so real to her. Her child.

And his.

Jasmine wondered how he would react. She could remember questioning the potion when she'd been forced to drink it after coming out of the hypnosis, and his response had been cold and almost calculated, with the sneer in his voice: "To prevent any unfortunate accidents."

But he'd spoken this nearly two years ago now, and in two years, many things had changed, and she could almost believe that he was changing, after the hours spent in the previous night, and early morning. And so Jasmine wondered what he might do if she... just stopped taking it. Would he react as badly as he might've back then?

She didn't think so. But at the same time, she didn't really want to ask. Especially if it was too late, as she had no idea had long it might take for the potion to wear off. And Jasmine had to wonder whether the flutter in her stomach was real, or whether she was just hoping it was there. And she wondered when she'd know.

And wondered, that when and if it happened, she'd have to tell Jafar. Because he'd notice eventually.

With a shaking hand, but a decided mind, Jasmine gently replaced the bottle back inside the back, hiding it deeply.

*

A couple of mornings later, Jasmine decided that she rather liked this Christmas idea.

The dance held at Elsa's home had been nothing less than perfect, in her eyes. She'd felt beautiful in the gold gown the girls had selected together, and knew that from the way she felt Jafar's eyes on her all the way down the staircase from the lower floor, that she was as beautiful as she believed. Elsa had embraced her at the bottom of the stairs, whispering a "I'm sorry" in the young queen's ear, with a glance towards the dark man nearby, and had been surprised to receive a "it's okay, thank you" in response.

For quite some time, Jasmine had been content to sit on the sidelines, watching the couples dance expertly around the room, and had rather wished that she could dance as well as they could. And the guests watched the Arabian couple with equal curiosity, deciding it safe to speak with the cheerful young woman but taking a look at the disapproving expression on her husband's face and figuring it best to avoid him.

It was only when an Englishman had asked for her hand for dance that Jafar made a movement towards anyone; the man had only just made it with Jasmine once around the room when Jafar had cut in, much to the man's disappoint and Jasmine's amusement.

"I'll be damned if any other man dances with my wife," Jafar had muttered, the scowl on his face matching the scowl in his voice, as he swung Jasmine around the other dancers easily. "And would you quit stepping on my feet?"

But despite his temperament, Jasmine smiled lightly up at him, accidentally trodding on his foot once more. "But you wouldn't dance with me, either."

"Yes, well, I've little choice now."

And while she'd loved the ball, and then when the guests left, loving the night they'd spent alone together in the bedroom (with the hope that maybe the potion had wore off by then, but believing that time would show her when that happened), it was little against the surprise she received on Christmas.

That morning, Elsa and Harun had announced that they were taking their son to the Christmas service at the local church, and that Jafar and Jasmine were welcome to join them. Jasmine initially liked the idea, of entering one of the pretty churches she'd seen along the trips, with the high arches and coloured windows, but Jafar had informed them that they had other plans, and that she'd probably find the service dull and uninteresting anyway. Jasmine vaguely wondered if it was more that _he _would find the service dull and uninteresting, but was happy to follow him out to their awaiting carriage, curious about where they might be going, about the plans he hadn't mentioned until that day.

And as the carriage wound its way higher into the countryside, despite the lightly falling snow on the ground, sticking quickly to the ground, Jasmine slowly grew more excited, wondering where on earth they were possibly going. She attempted to ask Jafar questions, who simply studied the outside world with an expression of boredom on face, but had fallen quiet when he'd finally snapped at her to stop asking endless questions, and that she'd find out soon enough.

It was only when the carriage began to slow alongside thick trees that anything changed – she felt a blindfold slip around her eyes and tied tightly behind her head, and before she could say anything, she felt Jafar's voice at her ear. "Be silent, 'mine; I will lead you from here."

Hesitantly, she allowed herself to put complete faith in him, as she felt him help her down the stairs to the icy ground, and then with one arm around her back and his other hand leading her own, they began to walk for what felt to Jasmine for miles. She shivered in the snow, despite the warmth from Jafar's body and the thick fur coat around her body, and was a little frightened that with each step she took, she might lose her balance with a misplaced step, but believed that Jafar would catch her before it happened.

And as suddenly as he'd placed the blindfold on her, they came to a halt and he removed it. Jasmine blinked her eyes for several moments against the harsh whiteness of the world, but when she managed to focus, her eyes grew wide in surprise at the sight of the large, two-story country house that stood before them proudly. "Jafar... what is this?" she asked, her voice in shock.

"It's a house," Jafar replied drily. "Come now Jasmine, I thought you were more intelligent than that."

Jasmine sighed, just catching herself at the last moment from rolling her eyes. "I know it's a house – whose?"

"Ours."

She looked up at him now, tall and imposing against the clear white of the snow, bewildered at both the answer and the simpleness of it. "Ours? But... why? How?"

Jafar shrugged lightly, the hand that did not hold hers thrust deep into his jacket's pocket against the cold, but she could see the tightness in the muscles on his face, caused by the discomfort that she could feel radiating from him. "This is the personal business I spoke of; I've had Harun scour houses for me before we arrived. There is of course the palace in Agrabah, but I thought that perhaps a home in another country, a smaller home, might be... nice."

Jasmine stared up at the house, unable to break the awed smile crossing her face. True, the house was more to his taste than her own – the darkness of the outside walls with black skirtings, the solid front door, the heavy curtains behind the windows and the ugly stone creatures at the corners of the roof. But it was hers, theirs, protected away from the road by the long row of trees and sitting in the middle of a perfect field of snow. "Where did you get the money?" she asked, her voice asking the question automatically, an attempt to break through her amazement.

She heard him laugh, a casual amused laugh, but still uncomfortable nonetheless. "You tend to become rather wealthy from being a grand vizier, especially when one has free accommodation and meals. It's easy to amass a fortune."

"Can we go inside?" she asked, managing to tear her eyes away from the small mansion to look up at him.

Jafar sighed, a sigh of annoyance. "Unfortunately I don't have the keys yet; the whole process has been a little slow." He frowned for a moment, and then stared down on the top of Jasmine's head, who had diverted her attention back to the house with a mixture of excitement and disappointment in her eyes. She seemed to be rather unhappy about not being able to enter the house, and to be completely honest with himself, he was rather unhappy about it himself. He had certainly made the people who had arranged the purchase for him unhappy as well, but for him, it made things brighten a little.

And if he was also still being completely honest with himself, he wanted to make Jasmine happy again. And Jafar knew how to do it.

"Come, 'mine," he said, gently tugging Jasmine by the hand behind him as he headed towards the side of the house. "There's something you'll like back here."

Jasmine allowed herself to be lead, but she tried to glance in the window on the way down the side of the house, always finding herself disappointed to face the black, velvet curtains. But at the same time, she could feel the hum of nervousness in her blood. This house was the last thing she'd expected him to take her, but she'd felt a thrill when he'd declared the house to be theirs, and not that he'd just brought the house for himself, or for her. The palace back in Agrabah, while she loved, she knew was the family's, and her father's, but this house was _theirs_, for no one else to touch or run around in or to bring strangers from other lands stamping through. This was their private sanctuary, just hers and Jafar's.

And, with a tinge of apprehension, Jasmine wondered what it all meant.

"Here," she heard Jafar speak, pulling Jasmine out of her thoughts, and she looked up, a gasp catching in her throat as she looked out in front of them.

Behind the house was the largest forest she'd ever seen.

Admittedly, she hadn't seen many forests, but to Jasmine, it was breathtaking. The dense, tall trees made it seem far bigger than it was, the snow dusting the deep emerald green of the leaves like fine sugar, the highest branches stretched towards the grey sky like a triangle. But she was certain that she could become truly lost amongst the trees, a place she could call her own – despite her love for the courtyards in the palace, Jasmine knew that there was probably always someone staring down at her from the high windows, never really giving her the private peace that she sometimes craved.

But her, she was sure, that if she made her way to the middle of the forest, that through the towering trees above, the heavens would be lucky if they'd be able to see her.

"Jasmine."

She turned, surprised to find herself already several steps away from him and several steps towards the forest, and also surprised to see the smallest of genuine smiles playing on his features, though with the fear of the unknown making his face a little tense. "Before you run away, I have something for you." He reached out for her hand. "Give me the ring, will you?"

Jasmine looked down confusion at her hand. "My ring?" she questioned, slowly slipping off the wedding ring along her finger. She'd never liked the ring herself – the gold clunky against her skin, the dark ruby in the centre raw and roughly cut – and knew that it had been produced with speed and in necessity, but over the months she'd become used to the weight on her hand. She handed it over to Jafar in silence, biting down on her lip, wondering why he wanted it. Maybe the house really was just his, or just hers...

But then her eyes widened, the worrying thoughts driven from her mind, at the little box in his hand, and then the new ring on her finger, absolutely tiny and little in comparison to the old one. "I thought you might like this one better, it's more..." _stunning, beautiful, perfect_ "... you."

Jafar's voice seemed like an echo far away in her mind, as Jasmine stared down at the small ring in awe. It was still gold, but the gold was lighter now and thinner around her fingers, and the little diamonds embedded in it complimented the metal, rather than colliding harshly with it like the large red gem. She had always liked simple jewellery and to her, this ring was perfect, and she was touched to her core that Jafar had thought the same, too.

He watched her as she raised her hand up between them, allowing the sunlight to catch on the diamonds, and it was his turn for his breath to catch as the sun bounced off the diamonds and sent tiny flickers of rainbow light dancing across her face. And then she smiled, as she finally looked away from the ring and up at his face.

"Jafar, I love..."

She trailed off as she felt his body stiffen at her words, and as the pure elation in her mind was replaced by deep fear and uncertainly, as she realised that she was about to utter the words that she'd desperately wanted to hear from him for so many months. And Jasmine wondered if she'd finally arrived to the same conclusion about giving voice to her feelings that he had some time ago – that it was suddenly quite awkward and unsettling, as if someone was trying to take her over her mind and push the words out of her, no matter the consequences.

Jasmine glanced towards the ground, allowing her hair to fall down over her pretty face, in an attempt to hide the blush on her cheeks from him. "I love the ring," she mumbled, her voice barely carrying, her eyes closing gently.

The moments of silence that followed her statement were near unbearable, and she not dare to look up at him, standing in front of her as quietly as a ghost. _Please say something_, she wished mentally, hoping that he could hear it, preferably before the tears that threatened to slip away from under her lashes gave way.

And then she heard him speak, as quietly as she had. "Ironic, isn't it?" he mused, with a calm, clear voice that Jasmine couldn't read. She couldn't hear a hint of anger, or frustration, or any of the other emotions that she feared from him. But nor could she feel any of the emotions she needed, she wanted to hear of him.

Jasmine couldn't fight the one, lone tear that escaped down her cheek. How could she expect him to say words that she had discovered that she couldn't even say herself?

But maybe.... maybe, now was the time. Maybe, even though she might not be able to say it, maybe she could ask. Jasmine slowly looked up at him through her veil of hair, her eyes shy and a little frightened, quietly trying to read the lack of expression on his face.

"Jafar, do you... do you..." Jasmine cleared her throat nervously, the tears threatening to catch onto the words and bring the whole question crashing down.

"Do you love me?"

_

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_

_TBC _


	17. Words

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: Thank you to all for the reviews from last chapter, I don't believe I've written an actual romantic, fluffy chapter before for anything because it's pretty far from my usual writing, so I'm pleased that the last chapter seemed to come off without gagging and still keeping J&J in character. Chapters will now slowly become darker again from the next chapter on, so enjoy the lighthearted chapters as we have them now._

_Onwards we go; enjoy readers, reviewers and lurkers._

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**Chapter Seventeen**

"_Do you love me?"_

As the silence that crept over them carried on after asking the question, Jasmine squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. The longer the silence lasted, the more certain she was of not liking his reply.

"Jasmine..."

His voice was calm, but she could deter a tumour under it, one that was desperate to escape and one that Jafar was using every inch of willpower against. Frightened of that idea, Jasmine refused to look at him, focused on trying pull herself together, trying not allowing further tears to follow the one that had slipped down her cheek.

"Jasmine, how old are you? Five?"

Her eyes flew open at his snide question, surprised at herself to feel the burn of anger in her face. Anger was the last emotion she had expected to feel on a response to her question – she knew that she would either feel joy, or sorrow, and the sorrow was one that she had prepared for. But anger, let alone a sarcastic response from him, was a response that threw her off guard.

Then again, this was Jafar; how could she have expected anything less?

Despite the realisation, she studied his face, one that had managed to stay calm unlike her own, but she could see her anger reflected back in his eyes. "What do you mean by that?" she snapped, unable to control the emotion. "Of course I'm not – "

"Then stop acting like it!" Jafar responded, and Jasmine flinched at his tone of voice, a tone that matched her own, emotion for emotion. "Only a child needs everything explained to them!"

Jasmine moved her eyes swiftly from his face down to the snow, darkened to a dull grey colour by their hovering shadows. She found herself studying his feet, the dark black leather in deep contrast to the ground, then allowed the tears to finally fall, now that he couldn't see her face. Echoed in her mind was Elsa's warning, that Jafar simply wasn't the sort of person to proclaim his feelings in front of the entire world.

But she didn't want him to do that, she just wanted him to tell her. And despite the fact that she'd been unable to do it herself (yes, Jasmine agreed with him on this – it was ironic), this wasn't about her.

"I don't _need _it explained," Jasmine mumbled now to his feet, knowing that he could hear her, her anger replaced by devastation. "I just _want _you to say - "

Jasmine remained quiet except for the soft sobs echoing in her chest, and she kept her lips pressed tightly together, so he wouldn't hear them echo as well. She didn't understand how one minute Jafar had made her feel like she was on top of the world, and then the next, had cruelly brought her crashing down and was treating her like a naughty child, the child that he'd implied when he asked her age.

"How many times do you have to ask, a question that I've answered plenty of times in every way that I can think of?" she heard him continue, but his voice was quieter now, the anger still lurking there yet softer, coloured by pleading, begging emotions. Jasmine had a strong sense of the shoe being on the other foot – usually it was her speaking with such desperation and frustration, and now it was him, and this knowledge made her want to reach out and touch him, as the knowledge filled her with strange sense of warmth, but it was not hot enough to melt her heart, that had been turned into a block of ice that threatened to crack at any moment.

"I've given you all that I can; 'mine, what more do I have to do?"

Jasmine raised her face to look at him, feeling the tears freeze against her face in the wind, her hair whipping about her head. She could herself swimming in depression at the look on his eyes, the honest question he had asked, and the emotion of bewilderment behind the honesty, an emotion that she was used to but one he had only just found. She drew in a shaky breath in an attempt to comfort herself, trying to calm down the choke of salty tears in her throat. "Jafar... please, just say..."

"Just say the words that you can't?"

"Jafar, don't do this, it's not fair," she whispered, feeling the tears begin to flow again, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.

"Then don't expect me to say them for you."

"I've never expected anything from you."

She looked at him in surprise at her own statement, watching as a seemingly million unidentifiable emotions flicked across his face at once. Unable to look into his eyes, Jasmine quickly glanced down again, turning her body away from his, her gaze scanning the forest behind her, but not properly seeing it at the same time. "I'm not sure why I expected this from you, then; now it just seems ridiculous."

As he watched her walk away towards the forest, Jafar felt decidedly undignified, his voice threatening to scream into the cold winter air, the way that he had heard Jasmine scream into the desert months ago. He felt as if there was a small, confused little party of people inside his head, demanding to know what on earth that had been about.

Jafar desperately wanted to shut the people up, to smack them into oblivion, but he had no answer for himself, and until he did, he knew his own mind would hunt him down. _Really_, he heard his mind belittle him_, would it be so hard for you to get off your high horse and admit it?_

The problem, Jafar knew, wasn't that he couldn't admit it. He truly believed the question that he had asked her – he'd done everything he could to show her that he loved Jasmine, and deep down, he knew that she wasn't stupid or naive enough not to see that. But he just couldn't bring himself to say the three little words, and he was confused as to why Jasmine needed to hear them; really, what difference was it going to make?

But in the darkest part of his memories, Jafar hear d Leila teasing him, her laughter light and the pretty smile on her beautiful face, but looking back, he could see the sadness and uncertainly in her eyes.

"_I love you, Jafar... see, it's easy, now you try._"

Jafar watched as Jasmine walked into the forest, and with the knowledge about how large the forest was and that there was a high probability of Jasmine getting herself lost within it, he followed her across the snow, swearing an oath to himself but decidedly seeing no other option. And maybe, just maybe, it would soothe a little bit of the mountain of pain that he carried, soothe the part of him that refused to forgive the fact that he hadn't told Leila he loved her before he'd left for the last time, that he hadn't taken the moment to lean in and kiss her sleeping face, before she'd been torn away from him in a very harsh lesson.

Maybe now was the time to learn from it.

He didn't have to walk far into the forest to find Jasmine; she was leaning against the fifth tree in, at the edge of a very small clearing, and the figure of her made his already cautious heart nearly break – she was huddled against the tree, her arms still tightly around herself, her head hang and her hair falling thickly down to her hips. If the world went silent, Jafar knew that he'd be able to hear her quiet sobs, and he knew that her body was shaking from them, rather than the cold.

"Jasmine," he called, quietly as to not to startle her. But despite the fact that he knew that she heard him, she turned her head away, staring into the deep green of the forest.

Jafar walked towards her, to stand in front of her, each nervous step carrying the other but he was determined not to show it. He cupped her chin in his hand and pulled her face up to look at him; Jasmine allowed him to do so, but her face had a complete different expression on it, her eyes looking away, trying to ignore him. But she couldn't ignore the warm kiss that he placed on her lips, one that remained until he felt her give in and hers lips parting underneath his own, allowing him to deepen the kiss, without any of the usual harshness or brutality behind it.

Jasmine whimpered softly into his mouth, feeling the sobs in her chest paralyse, her eyes sliding shut slowly. Her body wanted to lash out at him in annoyance and confusion, but her mind was willing to hand itself over to him, grateful that he had come to her and not turned away back to the carriage or abandoning her, like she feared he might when she had walked away, but her pride had been too strong and selfish to go back to him.

She felt him pull away slightly, breaking the kiss, and Jafar had to fight the smile that struggled to leap on his face at her soft sound of protest. He kissed her forehead lightly, before moving away to press his lips against her ear.

"Jasmine, I care about you more than anyone else in the world, more than anyone I've cared for in a very long time," he murmured, and she could hear the heaviness of his breath, and Jasmine realised the sheer difficulty that it took for him to be so honest now. His arms clenched around her waist, drawing her close against him. "And now I'm going to show you that."

In two years of physical, intimate contact, Jasmine had never imagined that Jafar could drop his mental guard so low, so low that she never thought it could be so perfect. It was cold and somewhat uncomfortable on the snow; with just his cloak under them and her long fur coat on top, and both refused to completely undress against the weather. But Jasmine didn't care; it was perfect this way, with touches and kisses softer than she had ever imagined they could be, and after a long and slow time of play, Jafar had finally buried himself within her, and pressed his lips against her ear once more, and it took every ounce of strength that Jasmine was rapidly losing for her not to burst into tears when she heard him whisper the three little words she had waited so long for, and she whispered them back to him, safe and secure.

And before she finally allowed him to take her over fully, before she allowed her mind to drift away in a drugged, blissful place, Jasmine gazed up at the sky above them, through the roof of leaves, with clouds that threatened to burst snow on them, and hoped that somewhere up in the great universe, Allah could hear her mental plea.

_Please, please, let it happen now..._

*

Elsa had been the one to hail the doctor from London.

She had no idea what the pair had done on Christmas Day, and she knew only that they had returned with Jasmine was only barely containing joy that threatened to leap out of her body, and while Jafar still looked and acted like his usual uptight self (Elsa had clearly heard him tell Jasmine to "get a grip" from the next room), she knew that by the muscles in his face and the calmness in his eyes, that he was more relaxed than herself and Harun had ever known him to be.

But it hardly seemed worth it, she thought, when after two weeks, Jasmine was still tucked up in bed, sedated with fever, and Elsa demanded to know how long Jafar had kept her out in the cold for, unimpressed by his avoidance of the question and only answering "she'll be fine", and his ignoring the echoing sneezes and coughs that drifted down from upstairs.

And in her heart, Elsa knew that if she was sure that Jasmine only had influenza, that she would've listened and agreed with Jafar. But when she would ask Jasmine how she was feeling, Jasmine gave answers that together, seemed to have no relation at all to the influenza.

Her muscles and body ached, especially around her chest, and in her breasts.

She was nauseous in the mornings, but seemed to be holding food down okay.

Suspicious, Elsa asked her when her last monthlies were, and if they had come on time. Jasmine, surprised and embarrassed to be hearing and then answering such a question, finally mumbled that it was supposed to be last week, and had never arrived.

Elsa could see the signs, even if her sweet, unsuspecting friend didn't (and she kept Jafar successfully in the dark) – she'd gone through it all with Friedrich. So she had called for a doctor who arrived promptly at the house, unfortunately answered by Jafar.

"She doesn't need a doctor, it's a cold!" Jafar exploded at Elsa, and Elsa desperately calmed the smile that threatened to come out, finding amusement in the knowledge that Jafar had no real idea of why the doctor was there. "She'll be fine soon!"

"Well, it's just to be on the safe side," Elsa calmly explained. "Besides, if you hadn't taken her out into the snow for so long, she wouldn't have a cold."

She watched as Jafar's teeth clenched together, before he let out a loud, exasperated sigh and storming off. "Women are mad," she distinctly heard him snap as he walked away.

Elsa and the doctor waited patiently until they were certain that Jafar was out of hearing distance, before the doctor spoke up. "I'm not here because of Jasmine's influenza, am I?"

"No," Elsa replied, before informing the doctor of her suspicions.

Several minutes later, up in the guest room, the doctor stared at Jasmine and Elsa for a long time, Jasmine confused and Elsa containing her excitement, before smiling at them. "Well, Elsa, my dear, your suspicions are correct.

I think you better call for this young lady's unpredictable husband; he'll want to hear this."

_

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_

_TBC_


	18. Agrabah

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: The more this story goes on, the more I get the feeling that if I were to write a purely sex-oriented story or one-shot with Jafar and Jasmine, I'd hear little complaint (based on reviews and the surprisingly amount of hits for chapter eight specifically, much higher than all the other chapters but the first one)..._

_Mad Madame – Can't guarantee another romp in the snow specifically, but I'll see what I can do about more romp sessions ;) _

_Meanwhile:_

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**Chapter Eighteen**

"Jafar?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you sure you don't mind what I call it?"

"Jasmine, honestly! Why are you asking that _right now_?"

"I was just thinking..."

"I already told you, I don't mind what you name him. Or her. Now, if you don't shut up, I'll have to kiss the lips on your face rather than the ones down here."

"... Jafar?"

"What now?!"

"Do you mind what the sex of the baby is?"

"I mind that I'm not getting any right now."

"What?"

"It's not like I can choose. Jasmine, I would like a boy, but I'm really not bothered. A girl will be fine, too."

"I think I know what it's going to be."

"I know you do. And I also know that if you don't shut up right now, I'll have to punish you."

"... would you?"

*

The Sultan was experiencing an emotion he had not often felt before – anxiety.

He was back in charge of Agrabah while Jafar and Jasmine were away, and on Jafar's orders to "not mess everything up". And despite having far more experience in running a city than the younger man, the Sultan was rather impressed with Agrabah's growth – the city now stretched across and over the horizon, with those moving to the city from faraway places lending their expertise to build better homes and stores for the citizens. The Sultan greeted other rulers who arrived curiously, only to find out that Jafar wasn't there, and would simply thrust a letter into the Sultan's hand, instructing him tomake sure that Jafar would receive it and reply.

The Sultan believed that it would take Jafar another year just to read through the pile of correspondence, let alone reply to any of it, if he bothered.

But the Sultan wasn't worried by the politics possibly being taken away while Jafar was gone; politics had never been his strong suit, and that was why he'd hired Jafar as his grand vizier so many years ago, despite his better judgement but relenting to the Sultana's wishes, begging the Sultan to give her friend a chance, that the twenty-one year old man needed something to take his mind off everything that had happened.

And now, the Sultan wasn't sure what was happening. All he knew was that Jafar had told him that they would return within a year, and now, two months overdue, there was no letter and no message to let him know where his daughter was. Hedid not care very much for Jafar's whereabouts, but a chill had enveloped the usually cheerful Sultan and was growing colder each day that Jasmine didn't arrive home, and with the worst case and only scenario running through the Sultan's head, no news was not good news.

That Jafar had killed his little girl, and was wisely not returning to Agrabah.

As the Sultan slowly built his stack of toys, the measure that he always took to attempt to calm himself, he couldn't help but ignore the tiny voice in his heart that told him that this scenario was unlikely, that Jasmine was probably just fine, wherever they were. Besides, this voice reasoned, there was a much high chance that Jafar would've killed her during their honeymoon, and yet he'd delivered Jasmine back in one breathing piece, even if that one breathing piece was the same ghost that had left after the wedding. And also, after a year of being married to the man, he was certain that Jasmine would not have left with Jafar for such a long time if she'd feared privately for her life.

Yes, the logical part of the Sultan's mind said, there could be hundreds of reasons for their delay in returning home, and in each one of them, Jasmine was most likely safe and sound at her husband's side.

And so the Sultan wondered, if it wasn't Jafar that plagued his mind of the evil that might've happened, but if it was Aladdin instead.

Despite Aladdin's generally gloomily outlook on life, the Sultan felt a little sorry for the boy, but mostly perplexed at his ridiculously stubborn behaviour. The boy completely refused to leave the palace, deciding to wait until _his _Princess returned, despite the Sultan's warning that Jasmine would probably be less than pleased to find Aladdin still there on her return. This comment, in hindsight, had been somewhat thoughtless, as Aladdin had reacted like a child, complaining that the Sultan can't have known his daughter that well after all if that's how he expected her reaction.

The poor boy was convinced that Jasmine would be flattered that he had waited for her, that she would see his devotion for her, and that he was the one she truly wanted. The Sultan thought he was deluded.

Being the only one impartial to the situation, the Sultan had watched his daughter's relationship with his grand vizier with a fearful interest – even when she was a child, the Sultan had watched the pair bait one another, him always staying carefully away from the line and her attempts to jump right over it. And then the Sultan had watched as his daughter grew into a young woman, and had watched Jafar as he watched Jasmine also, and had made the law in order to bring his fears to rest, only to watch the law fail miserably.

And then, as the Sultan had watched a marriage slowly grow from one of hatred and desperation, to one of almost mutual agreement and a strange sort of companiship, he wondered if he had been wrong in not allowing the relationship to take its initially natural course. If the state of their marriage was anything to go by now, the Sultan was nearly quite certain that Jasmine had made the right decision in so many ways, and that despite Aladdin's romantic beliefs, the beliefs held no flame.

The slamming of the main palace door snapped the Sultan out of his thoughts, sending his small toys scattering everywhere. He looked up in a strangely high amount of hope, knowing that there was only one person he knew that would open a simple door with such force.

Jafar stalked towards him, clad in his usual robe, turban and cloak, looking as fierce as ever but oddly worse for wear. "Wadi!" he barked, with not so much as a greeting. "How is my Agrabah?"

"It's... it's fine," the Sultan stammered, rather bewildered by the sudden, unannounced entrance. "How is – ?"

"Father!"

The Sultan's heart jumped in delight at the sight of his daughter running into the room, pushing past her husband to embrace her father warmly. And as they embraced, the Sultan was both surprised and confused by Jafar's quiet call of "be careful", and as Jasmine stood up to her full height again, the roll of her eyes in response.

Jasmine kissed the Sultan's cheek, and then took his hands in her own, her eyes shining brightly. "Father, I'm so sorry we're late. There was a change of plans; we had to come home by boat."

"By boat?" The Sultan asked, now truly surprised and confused, but the sentence explained why Jafar didn't look too well – the Sultan knew of the man's rather severe seasickness, having found out about it first hand, and knew that the man would not have dared step foot onto a boat unless it was absolutely necessary. "Why on ever did you come by boat?"

Jasmine's smile was stunning. "Oh Father, I have the most wonderful news for you!"

The Sultan thought that whatever Jasmine's news, that she looked wonderful also – the time away had turned a pretty young teenager into a beautiful young lady; her hair fell silkily down her back and she had grown taller in the absence, her face losing some of it's childness. The long, flowing dress she wore was surprising adult and demure for Jasmine – a light white chiffon fabric, sleeveless with a deep crimson sash tied under her bust. The Sultan glanced down at her hand, at the pretty, fine ring on her hand and wondering about the missing, gaudy one, and then his eyes travelled back up to his daughter's face, and blinked in surprise at the curves hiding away under the fabric, and a gentle, surprising curve around her stomach.

The Sultan smiled at her now, filled with joy at the lovely daughter that had been returned to him, and wrapped a short arm around her waist, guiding her away towards a private sitting room. "Then you must tell me everything, my dearest." He looked back at Jafar, remaining in the main room, who had a decidedly dark look on his face. "Will Jafar be joining us?"

"Oh, no," Jasmine replied lightly, flickering her hair over her shoulder as she smiled a little smile back at her husband. "He already knows."

Jafar felt his expression turn into a glare as he watched the pair leave, then he turned to leave in the opposite direction, also. He knew that Jasmine was excited to tell her father the news, but honestly, would it have killed the selfish girl to rest first, after the ride through the desert? She didn't just have her well-being to care about, now.

But then the glare quickly turned to amusement, as he nearly walked into Aladdin in the corridor. He eyed the boy, still dressed in his urchin clothing, as Aladdin eyed him back with a face of hatred.

"What are you still doing here?" Jafar demanded, unimpressed that Aladdin had been living in his home the entire time he'd been away.

"Why is she so happy?" Aladdin demanded back, his voice full of accusations, much to Jafar's surprise.

"I thought you'd want your little princess to be happy?"

"Not if it's because of something _you've_ done."

Jafar let out an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, before looking back down at Aladdin with a sneer on his lips. "Honestly, street rat, your little threats are pathetic. There's just no pleasing you, is there – you're angry if she's unhappy, no doubt that you believe to be my fault, and then you're angry if she's happy, no doubt again you believe to be my fault."

Aladdin felt his hands clench at his sides, his expression spiteful towards the older and much taller man. "She can't be truly happy because of you," he snapped. "You've hypnotised her, or something."

Jafar blinked for a moment, and then burst into genuine, amused laughter. "Ah, no, my dear boy. I'm afraid, much to your destruction, that she's happy and perfectly sane in her mind, because – "

And Jafar halted, unsure.

Jasmine's voice echoed in his mind, a plea that she had made to him just days before. _"Please, don't tell Aladdin about the baby. It'll be better coming from me."_

At the time, Jafar had agreed, fine to go along with her wishes. But faced with the annoying street rat now, the temptation to be his usual bastard self was too great.

But Aladdin read his silence incorrectly. "So you're not certain that she's happy?" he asked, in a fake sense of achievement.

"No, I'm quite certain of it," Jafar replied, feeling his smile growing more twisted as he spoke. "She's with child."

"With child?"

Jafar had to stop himself from smacking the boy out of stupidity, and was satisfied with the sneer that crept into his voice. "She's pregnant; Jasmine's going to have a child."

His sneer was well-rewarded, as Aladdin gaped up at him, attempting to find voice through his shock. "What... how?" he asked. "And... and... whose?"

Jafar waved a dismissive hand, deciding that the damage was done, as he brushed past the boy. "Some other adult can explain to you the act of how," he replied, but then he turned back to him, to deliver the blow that Aladdin felt in his heavy heart, that he knew was already coming. "And it's mine... it kills you, doesn't it, to know that it should've been yours?"

He then allowed himself one last glance at the boy's horrified face, before stalking away, smiling calmly.

_

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_

_TBC_


	19. Devils

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: Yay for the speed of chapters coming out when I'm under medical house arrest for thyroid problems and being able to do little else... enjoy._

_Mad Madame: Sandy romp sessions, maybe... scroll down this chapter..._

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**Chapter Nineteen**

To say that Aladdin was beside himself in anger was putting things lightly.

As he marched out of the palace into large courtyard, Aladdin had to force himself not to turn around and punch the older man directly in the face, to smack away that self-satisfied smirk, and he kept walking through the courtyard towards the fountain, where he sat with his hands tightly gripping his knees, making an attempt to channel his energy. Going back inside to cause a physical confrontation would, Aladdin knew logically, see ultimately himself as the victim.

Besides, he was already in pain; there was no need to make it physical as well. Every little bit of hope he'd held over Jasmine's absence of the last year had been successfully blown away.

The idea of Jasmine pregnant to that sadist was not the news he'd expected when she would finally return home. He had banked on the hope that Jasmine would've been broken by Jafar, returning home a mess and ready for divorce, and then he could help her put herself together again, that he would be the faithful, doting husband that she deserved, instead of the cruel madman of a husband she'd received instead. The Sultan had given him the impression that he did not expect Jasmine to return in such a state, but Iago had tended to side with Aladdin, telling him that from a first-hand experience, one would have to have nerves of steel to be secluded with the man for so long and not be out for his blood. Which said, in Aladdin's eyes, a lot for the relationship Jafar and Iago had, but he decided not to push it.

But if Jafar's words were to be believed, and if Aladdin could bank on the sound of Jasmine's voice being the happiness of one that was under her own free-will, he had to numbly force himself to believe that the Sultan had been right. Though he could not believe, even try to force himself to understand, that Jasmine would be happy about carrying a devil's child. What on earth was there to be happy about it?

"Rajah!"

Aladdin swung around to the sweet voice that drifted towards him through the fine spring day, the voice that echoed behind him. He watched as Rajah ran to the woman in white, the dress making her appear to be an angel, and he watched as she knelt down to Rajah's height, cuddling him and burying her face in his fur. She pulled away, continuing to stroke Rajah's fur, and while Aladdin couldn't hear what she was saying to her tiger from this distance, there was no mistaking the friendly, happy smile on her face.

He took these few, unnoticed moments to take Jasmine in. She was as beautiful as when she'd left, and to add to the mental anguish he felt already, he felt decidedly pathetic, dressed as what Jafar called a street rat to a goddess like her. But she was perfect, his perfection, and he would be damned if he ever left this palace without her, wanting to keep that perfection rather allow it to be eaten away by torture and unfavourable things.

And then the moments were over, as Jasmine stood slowly up from Rajah and glanced around the courtyard, the smile on her face faltering as she spotted Aladdin, and she began to walk towards him, her expression thoughtful.

Aladdin swallowed tightly as Jasmine walked towards him. The fine breeze heading towards her swept her hair back, the long dark mane fluttering around her, but with it, her dress swept back against her body, pressing tightly against her stomach, against the smooth, rounded bump there. Aladdin had nearly encouraged himself to believed that Jafar had only said she was pregnant to drive him mad, as it wouldn't have been past him to do so, but the way Jasmine rested her hands against her stomach, as if protecting the monster there, hammered the final nail into that coffin.

"Aladdin," Jasmine spoke as she came close to him, and while he could see the smile on her face, he could sense that it was an uncomfortable smile due to the surprised tone in her voice. He closed his eyes quickly and gently as he felt her warm kiss against his cheek. "Hi... I didn't expect for you to still be here."

He watched as she sat slowly down on fountain's bench, shifting to make herself comfortable, her hands never leaving her stomach. The sunlight caught the diamonds on her ring, causing the stones and gold to smile mockingly at him, and despite the friendly emotions in her eyes, Aladdin felt his blood begin to boil once more. "Congratulations are in order?" he questioned, his voice colder than he intended towards her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, but her voice was cautious.

Aladdin was blunt. "Jafar told me."

Jasmine closed her eyes, and Aladdin was surprised to hear the curse that came out of her mouth. "I told him... he said he wouldn't..." She opened her eyes again, and his heart melted a little at the pleading in her eyes. "I wanted to tell you, I thought... I knew it would better if I told you."

"What would it have mattered who told me?" he asked, feeling his anger evaporating, and then he sat down next to her, more calm now but still tense. He gestured towards her stomach. "How far along?"

"Four months," Jasmine smiled. "She's due in September."

"She?"

"I'm hoping for a girl."

Aladdin, despite himself, felt an answering smile appear on his face as he studied Jasmine's face, then allowed his vision to drift across to the tree against the palace wall, the tree that he knew she had scaled once upon a time to get out of the palace and into the city of Agrabah. It would be a big responsibility, one that he had not counted on, but one that he was certain he could do well.

Jasmine watched him in confusion as he took one of her hands between her own. "Jasmine, I don't care if this baby is Jafar's, I can raise it as my own."

"... raise it as your own?" she echoed.

Aladdin heard the questioning in her voice, and decided to continue on. "Yes, when you leave here and we move to Agrabah – "

"Aladdin, wait!" Jasmine yanked her hand back away from his as she scooted away from him, and he could not ignore the frustration and anger in her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, and neither is this child!"

"But I thought – "

"You thought wrong," she cut him off, her voice as cold as his had been, now. "Aladdin, I don't want to... I love him."

The soft whisper that she spoke the last three words with crushed Aladdin.

"Jasmine, you love me," Aladdin tried to confirm, his voice breaking with his heart as he watched Jasmine bite her lip.

"I did... I do. But as a friend," Jasmine sighed. "And even if I didn't love him, even if I did go with you, this child would stay here."

Aladdin stood slowly, trying to bring his anger from earlier back under control but beginning to fail miserably. The disappointment of the knowledge that Jasmine had no intention on being with him, like they'd promised one another so long ago, combined with the frustration that she would just leave her child in the palace with Jafar even if she did leave, was beginning to boil in his blood, and he knew that it would erupt before he could reign it in.

"You can't leave a child with Jafar!" Aladdin snapped, not bothering to hide his anger on this from her.

"And what would be my other option?" Jasmine snapped straight back at him, startling him, her face flushed with annoyance. "Have my child run around in those dusty streets? At least she could be care for properly here!" She brought her eyes up to look at Aladdin, but she quickly looked down again at the fury in his eyes, and she exhaled heavily. "I don't know why I'm even arguing this; Aladdin, I'm not going anywhere, and neither is my baby."

Aladdin watched as Jasmine turned to leave, and through the sharp range of fear and angry emotions he felt taking him over, he couldn't help the words that escaped from his mouth.

"Only an unfit mother would leave her child with the devil."

In the smallest, seemingly unselfish place of his heart, Aladdin felt that he deserved the stunning slap across his face.

*

Jafar watched in amusement as he walked his wife stalk away from Aladdin, having turned to look out his window in time to see Jasmine's arm swung out and hit him with force. From his tower, the two looked little more like specks in the courtyard, one standing seemingly bewildered in the middle of the courtyard and one quickly storming away, until she walked under cover and out of sight.

"That was interesting," Iago commented from his master's shoulder.

"I dear say so," Jafar murmured back, watching as Aladdin kicked the fountain hard, before collapsing on top of the bench.

But Jafar was unimpressed – what was that street rat still doing in the palace? He had been an unwelcome presence before they left, Jasmine could not have made her frustration towards the boy any clearer, and now, judging from the physical violence towards him, she was no more impressed to see the boy than he was.

And the boy had no place here anymore, not that he ever did have a place here to start with – Jafar's teeth clenched together when he realised that the street rat had been leeching off the royal family the entire time that they'd been away, when he was nothing more than a lowly commoner from outside the palace walls; staying in the palace rooms and eating their food and for what, for what purpose and what had he done to deserve any of it?

"He's been waiting for his little Princess to return," Iago snickered, as if reading Jafar's mind.

Jafar raised an eyebrow, still studying the pathetic form of Aladdin. "The entire time?"

"The entire time."

"What did he expect to happen?" Jafar mused, more talking to himself, but Iago replied anyway.

"He expected for Jasmine to be a broken wreck when returning – your fault, of course – and whisk her off to safety. Not that that's gonna happen now, now she's up with your kid; by the way, good job there, Jafar!"

Jafar turned to face the bird, and the bird did not like the dark look that crossed his face. But luckily for him, the door to Jafar's sanctuary was thrown open then, bouncing off the wall, and Jasmine stalked in, her beautiful still twisted in the anger that he'd seen minutes earlier.

And it was a look that haunted him, that stirred his emotions and muscles in his lower stomach. It was that anger, shimmering with passion and hatred, which had led him to her in the first place.

"Why did you tell him?!" Jasmine shouted now, all her anger now directed at him. On the walk up to Jafar's tower, her anger with Aladdin had faded away, not hurt by his words but frustrated over his romantic ideals, only considering what he wanted; but the anger had instead been directed towards her husband, for going back on his word, though when it came to Aladdin, she wasn't sure how she had expected anything less.

"Your anger isn't very good for the baby," Jafar replied easily, but this only resulted in Jasmine's face growing redder with annoyance, and she stormed up the stairs to the window towards him, glaring upwards at his face.

"I don't care! You said you wouldn't say anything!"

Jafar held her wrists quickly in his hands, before she could attempt to assault him the way she had successfully assaulted Aladdin. "It slipped out. And what are you talking about, woman; that you don't care if it's not good for the baby?"

Jasmine continued to glare at him, then looked away only to find herself staring at Iago on Jafar's shoulder, who was staring back at her. "Welcome back," Iago mumbled, feeling his feathers stand on end – he wondered when Jasmine might calm down, never having seen her so angry and realising that he couldn't deal with two Jafars.

"Thanks," Jasmine spat back at him, and Iago took off, nestling down on a nearby bookcase at a safe distance. But as she watched Iago fly away, flying away out of fear of her, she felt her anger disappear; even if Iago did rub her the wrong way, even if Jafar did the exact opposite of everything she asked of him, it gave her no excuse to go around shouting at everyone. Not even Aladdin deserved her shouting at him in the courtyard; despite his ridiculous fantasies, she had at first been pleased to see her friend again.

Jafar watched the anger melt away from her face and chose to let go of her wrists, picking her up gently around her waist and placing her so she sat on the nearby desk, her feet swinging off the floor. Jasmine allowed him to do so without argument, but then rested down on her back, her body arching from the extra weight of the quietly growing baby and her mind tired from stress, and she frowned up at him. "You told me you wouldn't say anything, though."

But the apology that had nearly slipped out of Jafar's mouth was gone, his throat dry, as he watched his wife lying innocently on the table, a little pout on her face. The white dress made her contrast with the darkness of the room, an angel in hell, and the sunlight from outside that hit the side of her face did nothing to demolish the image. Her hair pooled over the desk, snaking down the sides, and she'd rested one foot at the edge of the desk, in front of his hips, allowing her dress to hitch up around her knee.

With one careful, shuddering breath, Jafar pushed the fabric of the dress, allowing it to slip down her smooth thigh, to bunch up around her hip. She was no angel; she was the mother of his child.

"And I'm outta here," they heard Iago mutter, as he flew by Jafar's head and out the window, deciding wisely to pick that moment to leave.

Jasmine watched him leave, then glared again at Jafar as she watched him pick up her other foot, allowing the fabric bunch up the way he had with her other leg. Watching the expression on his face change from calm and calculating to the dark desire she loved and flirted with, she attempted to sit up and bunched her dress down between her legs, feeling relief as he lunged out with one hand and placing it at the small of her back. "Don't change the subject, Jafar – why did you tell him?"

"Would have been better if you told him?"

"Not... really... Jafar, don't!" Jasmine tried to push away from him as she felt his other hand running quickly up the inside of her thigh, under the gauzy fabric of the dress, but then she let out a whimper when she felt his warm hand against her, a finger dangerously resting against her opening.

"Don't what?"

"Don't... do that..." Her defiant voice trailed off as she felt his fingers slip into her, hooking back along her walls, her neck tipping back gently.

Jafar felt her feet curl up against his legs, and smirked lightly as he watched the look on her face drift between frustration and pleasure. "That's not the... the point!" Jasmine tried to argue, her breath hitching as he slowly stroked with more pressure. "You said you wouldn't say anything..."

"I know that's what I said," he replied, gently pushing her down onto her back once more in order to unclasp his robe. "But it was far too tempting... like now."

"But I wanted to tell him, and gently," she mumbled back, half her mind only vaguely interested on the topic as she watched him wrap her legs around her hips, his fingers inside her disappearing to push her own hips up as well. Jasmine titled her head up towards the window, then the blue sky outside it, and made another weak attempt to scuttle away from her husband, only to find herself held down. "Jafar... anyone can see..."

She broke off as she felt him enter her, slowly, and she let a groan escape her lips, echoing across the tower room as he pulled her body closer to his hips. "Who can see, 'mine? We can only see them from up here; no one can see us," he explained, his voice hoarse, his attention not focused on answering her.

And Jasmine's attention on just about any topic was gone as she felt him pull away slightly before thrusting unexpectedly deeply into her, causing her groan to turn into a squeal, his name whispered from her lips slowly. "_Jafar_... this isn't good for the baby," she quickly whispered, echoing his earlier words, before he could push into her again.

Through the haze of heated vision, Jafar glanced down at his wife, lost in white on the desk, and glanced down onto her stomach, smiling faintly. Their baby, the one that he'd been too surprised to say anything about when the doctor had told him, not to mention his bewilderment at his potion apparently failing to work (he'd have to get to work on a stronger one once the baby was born) but was then oddly pleased about when he saw the shy smile on Jasmine's face, when he realised that this wasn't a bad thing – even taking the boat back to Agrabah, due to his not wanting Jasmine to ride a horse while pregnant, seemed to be all the more bearable due to the little one inside her.

And besides, when he and Jasmine eventually moved on, they would need someone to take their place to rule over Agrabah.

Feeling her muscles squeeze around him, he lent over her body slowly, his cloak falling around them as he kissed her neck lightly. "I'm sure it's fine for the baby; it's fine for us."

_

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_

_TBC_


	20. Revelations

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: And continuing on with chapter twenty, enjoy my readers, reviewers and lurkers!_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

"We need to talk."

Aladdin hesitated in the progress of standing up from the dining table at the Sultan's words. It wasn't like the Sultan to speak so seriously, or with such graveness in his voice. He'd made to follow Jasmine and Jafar from the room, Jasmine waddling along slowly behind her husband, but now the Sultan had demanded to speak with him privately, and the look on the old man's face told Aladdin that he didn't necessarily want to discuss anything pleasant.

"What about?" he enquired.

"My daughter, and your future."

Aladdin slowly sat back down, unsure of where this conversation might head. He'd barely spoken to Jasmine since the day she had slapped him, or to be more precise, she had barely spoken to him, and he for one could hardly blame her. His comment had been over-the-line, and he could understand why she'd been insulted. But Aladdin truly felt that he was right, that the child and Jasmine should be removed from the palace before Jafar destroyed the entire family, and the snide, mocking glances that Jafar shot to him and his cruel comments that always lurked around the idea of 'what if' Aladdin had married Jasmine as planned, only pushed Aladdin's own beliefs.

If only he could get Jasmine to listen to him without blowing stream, but she had become too stubborn and seemed to see the world through rose-coloured glasses. Aladdin had to find some way of exposing Jafar to her, but couldn't think of how.

"Aladdin, why are you still here?" the Sultan asked, cutting through Aladdin's thoughts. He looked up, surprised.

"For Jasmine."

The Sultan sighed. He had been afraid of hearing that answer. "I don't think my daughter needs you around now, Aladdin."

Aladdin frowned, confused. "She hasn't said anything."

"She has," the Sultan replied tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Jasmine had begged him to talk to Aladdin, as she told him that she couldn't take any more of his 'ideals'. Maybe, she suggested, that he could convince him to leave in some way that she couldn't. "She hasn't said it so outwardly, but she doesn't need you here, Aladdin. You're making things more difficult on her than she needs."

"_I'm_ making things more difficult?" Aladdin asked, amazed and confused. "What about that festering, nasty – "

"She loves him, Aladdin!" the Sultan snapped, frustrated with Aladdin's attitude and bewildered as to how Jasmine had put up with it for so long. "I don't like him any more than you do, but she seems to be happy with Jafar now, and for a father, that's all I care about."

Aladdin looked down at the table in annoyance. Was everyone in this palace becoming deluded, and not caring about Jasmine's wellbeing? Was he the only one that truly cared for her?

And he knew that there was no chance that Jasmine could truly love that vile man; he knew that she'd only said it out of desperation in their conversation, and the Sultan only saw in his daughter what made her happy, that it was easier for her to say she loved her husband rather than face death at his hands. Aladdin was sure that if he could just make the Sultan see past her words, they would find the truth in Jasmine's mind, and realise for her just how torturous and suicidal her marriage really was, that her and especially the child would be far better off away from Jafar. "She loves me," Aladdin confirmed, trying to keep his voice steady but unable to stop his fists clenching on the table.

The Sultan reached out and patted the boy's hands gently. "And I believe she did, once. But people change, and we are not privy to what happened between them while they were away. Jasmine sees you as a friend now, but in order to be one, you need to be there for her."

"I am – "

"A friend who doesn't tell her that she and her child should run away from her husband."

Aladdin was quiet for a time, before he muttered, "She told you that."

"She did," the Sultan replied softly, gently unclenching Aladdin's fists and laying his hands flat on the table, without struggle. "You need to trust Jasmine in that she knows what she's doing; a mother's first instinct is always to protect her child, and she clearly doesn't see the need to protect t this child from Jafar." The Sultan cleared his throat, "She trusts Jafar, Aladdin; you need to trust her in that."

"I can't," Aladdin replied, simply, his voice downcast. "I think she's making a mistake."

"Then she needs to make it herself," the Sultan replied, with sadness in his voice for the boy across from him. "But Aladdin, if you can't sit by and help Jasmine the way she asks for it, then you need to leave now before Jafar does it for you... and I can promise you, Jafar's way of forcing you to leave will be more permanent than simply sending you back into the city."

Aladdin shook his head, his lips tight, not wanting to say anything to the old man that he couldn't take back. It was several minutes before he could gather himself together, and even when he had done so, the words were pushed out of him with greatly controlled effort. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

The Sultan sighed once more, but this time, he pushed his chair back and stood. He could not blame his daughter for giving up arguing with Aladdin; there was simply no way through to the boy's head. He wondered what it would take for Aladdin to realise this, but in the meantime, he could only hope that he would not do anything to force Jasmine into a position that she did not want or need, and that it wouldn't be necessary for Jafar's ultimate order of death to make Aladdin come to his senses. "Then take that risk, Aladdin," he advised, before turning on his heel to walk away from the boy. "I just pray for you that you might understand that it's a risk that you shouldn't be taking."

*

Aladdin wasn't the only one becoming frustrated by the situation – the heat of summer and carrying an unborn child had sent Jasmine on the hormonal warpath, and it was always one of the three men constantly in her target.

The Sultan and Aladdin, despite their difference of opinion when it came to the Queen, were as one when it came to Jasmine's screams and rants towards them, usually over things that were completely out of anyone's control. Aladdin, unused to Jasmine's strange behaviour, had a tendency to snap back at her in the beginning and become insulted, but the Sultan just continued to pretend to agree with his daughter until her attention had become occupied by something else and storming off, before informing Aladdin not to take Jasmine's ranting personally – he'd gone through it all before with her mother.

And if Aladdin was frightened of Jasmine's current state, Jafar, the Sultan knew, would never admit it but he was petrified of his wife. The Sultan had listened to Jafar in great amusement as he complained that he couldn't speak to Jasmine anymore: "I tell her she's pretty, she screams that I'm lying because she's overweight," Jafar bitterly muttered. "So I tell her that she's just overweight because she's pregnant, she screams that I'm being insensitive and storms off." He looked up to glare at the Sultan, and the Sultan had to quickly wipe the smile of his face before the sorcerer saw it. "What am I supposed to say?"

" Agreeing with her that she's overweight probably isn't a good thing to tell her," the Sultan advised wisely, and the scowl on Jafar's face became darker.

"Then what am I to tell her?"

"Nothing," the Sultan replied, a cheerful note in his voice that he could see Jafar holding his tongue over to not retort to. "Just let her go – she'll come around soon enough."

Besides, the Sultan was sure that it wasn't Jafar's words that were frustrating Jasmine; it was his actions as he hovered over his wife.

"He won't leave me alone!" Jasmine complained at her father, alone together in the Sultan's private chambers. She carefully raised her feet up on a nearby settee, feeling relief as her father pushed pillows gently down against her back, and despite herself, she cradled her ever-growing stomach gently with one hand.

The Sultan sat down besides his daughter, taking her free hand gently between his own. "How are you holding up, dearest?"

"I want her out." Jasmine said shortly, her face hot from the heat and her internal frustration. "Now."

"Well, it's only weeks away, all in good time," the Sultan reassured her, and Jasmine sighed. He smiled softly at the tiredness in her eyes. "What has Jafar done this time?"

Jasmine closed her eyes slowly, and shifted uncomfortably against the cushions. "I suppose he thinks he's being caring in his own strange way, but he's going over the top," she complained, keeping her arm firmly around her stomach. "I can't do anything for myself anymore – I'm amazed I managed to walk our chambers to here unsupervised. I don't know what he thinks will happen, but he keeps treating me... treating us... like we're breakable, like the smallest thing I do will cause a problem, that I might cause the baby to..." she swallowed tightly; just the idea of it happening to the baby shook her to the core. "... that anything I do might cause a problem for the baby."

The Sultan studied his daughter silently. He, too, had noticed that Jasmine now seemed to be unable to do anything due to Jafar's constant 'guidance' and influence, and he had very gently approached Jafar about this, suggesting that maybe this was not the best idea. But as he had predicted, Jafar had not wanted to speak about the situation, telling the Sultan to stay out of his business.

But now it was his business, now that Jasmine had come to him, and the Sultan felt that he had little choice in the matter, that he had to tell his daughter.

The Sultan squeezed Jasmine's hand, and she looked at him tiredly. "Jasmine, my love... do you know anything about a woman named Leila?"

To his surprise, Jasmine nodded, and he noted the interested expression that crossed her face. "I know a little," she admitted. "I know that she was Jafar's first wife, and that she was killed during a protest by the army." At her father's shocked emotion clearly on his face, she smiled ruefully. "Jafar didn't tell me this first – a friend in England did. What of her?"

The Sultan looked at their hands nervously, then sighed heavily. "Jasmine, I think you should know some of her history... Leila was your mother's cousin; that's how Jafar came to be the grand vizier here. Your mother convinced me to give him the role."

Jasmine raised an eyebrow, but no surprised emotion crossed her face except for that, and she appeared to be quite thoughtful. "Did you know her?"

"A little," the Sultan replied. "I didn't meet her for very long, but I remember her to be much like you and your mother – very strong-willed, very stubborn, but very kind and beautiful." He whispered the last part, his old heart breaking a little at the memory of Jasmine's mother, and he pressed the palm of his hand against Jasmine's cheek, marvelling in the beauty there that her mother had blessed her with.

Jasmine smiled against his hand, but then her gentle expression became one of curiosity. "But what does she have to do with anything now?"

The Sultan rested his hand gently against his daughter's, the one pressed reassuringly against her growing baby. "Dearest, please don't repeat this to Jafar – I'm sure that if he wanted to you to know, he would've told you already."

Jasmine wasn't so sure about this idea, but she remained quiet.

"This might help you understand him a little better; I know that despite how frustrating the man is, since your mother told me this that I can understand where his anger comes from," the Sultan continued, uncertain of himself now, uncertain whether he should be saying anything and meddling in his daughter's relationship. But if it would help her, help them...

"Jasmine, Jafar was away on the day of the accident, and despite that being out of his hands, I believe he blames himself. Because if he had been there, he might've been able to stop Leila from leaving their home, and he would've been able to prevent both deaths – hers, and the one of their unborn child."

_

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_

_TBC_


	21. Nightmares

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: Enjoy (ah, I'm not cruel enough to usually leave chapters on cliff-hangers...)! All reviews are gratefully appreciated, as I love to know my readers views on what's happening within the story :)_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Jasmine rose to her feet, with more ease than she had had done so in months, and in silence, walked to her father's chamber door and opened it, stepping into the hallway.

In the smallest part of her mind, she wondered if something was wrong with this scenario. The calmness of her soul despite the painful news that had been delivered, the lightness of her footsteps despite the heaviness of her stomach. With eyes that were not her own, she could see her father still remaining in his room, with no attempt to reach out to his daughter.

Everything was still within the chaotic mess of her world, and it was a stillness that did not sit right with Jasmine. The only sound she could hear was the softness of her breath between her lips, a breath that seemed to feel colder the further down it went through her body. She was sure that she should be able to feel something about her father's news, that there had been a child of Jafar's before this one, whatever the emotion should be – anger that no one had told her? Sadness for the brother or sister that this child could've had?

Devastation for the man she loved?

Jasmine wished to feel something, anything, about this. But her mind, her heart, were light, floating away on a fluffy white cloud. She felt that a great burden had been lifted from her, and realised that this burden had been misunderstanding, for now she understood.

She understood Jafar's hovering over her, making sure that she was always alright, in case something happened to her and their baby. He surely could not afford to suffer through it all again, and she wasn't sure Agrabah could survive under his wrath if anything did happen; according to the Sultan, Jafar had arrived shortly after the events a broken man, and instead of recovering and coming to terms with it like a normal person, he had simply turned to a life of hate and fury against the world that he had served for, only for the world to throw him and his life away.

But she could never say a word to him, she could only be there. Only keep her safe, and keep the little one safe, too. And her father's wish, of not only doing that for herself, or for her husband, but for the world; she was the key to rescue Jafar from himself, and she had to hold that key without Jafar ever knowing she had it, for everyone's sake. If something happened to her or their child, the Sultan warned, Allah only knew what Jafar could be capable of, but it wasn't destined to be something pretty, and it was destined to be something that he dragged the whole world down into also.

The rustling of fabric ahead of her made Jasmine stop in her thoughts, her feet standing still on the cool marble floor. She looked up, and frowned slightly at the clearly female figure ahead, her long black hair straight and her dress rumpled, but she was unable to see any other features clearly. She stepped forward, cautiously.

"Hello?" she called, feeling the slightest hint of fear cross into her heart.

And then, as she came closer, and the woman ahead smiled a toothless smile, Jasmine let out a cry at the sight of her, desperate to close her eyes from the image, but her eyelids were unwilling to obey her, and she had to settle for the hand coming up to her mouth in horror, feeling the tears prickle under her skin.

Jasmine now understood what the Genie had meant that raising people from the dead was not a pretty picture.

The girl, seemingly around her own age, had looked pretty from a distance, and now looked positively frightful. The dress she wore was ripped in various places, hanging in tatters from her shoulders, and a good portion of it was soaked in blood, her stomach and the skirt dripping in red, and Jasmine felt sick as she watched the fine trail of crimson make its way down the inside of her legs, puddling into a pool at her bare feet.

Jasmine willed her eyes to follow up the girl's body, and she whimpered at the sight of her face – the toothless mouth, the blood running from under her eyes, colliding with that that poured from her open lips. Her long, black hair was knotted around her face, clench in clumps of dirt and blood, sticking to her cheeks. Her clammy skin was stretched tight, her legs and arms too skinny for a human, but despite her deathly appearance, she looked genuinely kind, as her face curved with the friendly smile, one long arm reaching out to her, a hand with no fingernails beckoning to the Queen.

But no matter how kind she appeared, Jasmine was terrified, and she held her arms tightly around her stomach, trying to protect her baby from this monster. "Jafar!" she screamed, hearing her voice vibrate off the corridor walls. "_Jafar! Father!_"

"They can't hear you, Jasmine; they won't come," the other girl spoke, in a surprisingly gentle voice.

Jasmine turned to look behind her – the corridor had appeared to shut itself off, allowing her no room to run, and the corridor came to an end behind the dead girl. There were no doors, no windows, only the smooth stone of the interior and the two figures.

Jasmine swallowed hard, trying not to lose the contents of her stomach, as she looked nervously towards the girl. "How... how do you know me?" she asked quietly, only realising as she spoke the words that the girl had addressed her by name.

The girl continued to smile, but now, the smile had fallen into one of sadness, blood trailing slowly from the corners of her mouth. She drifted rather than walked closer to Jasmine, letting her arm fall back down to the side of her body. "I've been watching you," she whispered. "I'm Leila, it's nice to meet you." Leila sighed, staring down at herself, then looked back up at Jasmine with an apologetic expression, unable to apparently see the stunned expression on her companion's face. "I apologise for how I'm dressed; I don't like it much myself."

Jasmine stared at her for several moments, her mind struggling to comprehend the person in front of her, as she realised that despite Leila being close enough for her to touch, she couldn't not smell a hint of decay from her. "Are you...?" she asked, her voice trailing away.

"I'm dead," Leila answered calmly for her. "But don't worry, I'm only in your dream. That's why the others can't hear you, can't hear us."

_Only in my dream_, Jasmine mentally murmured to herself. She found it rather ironic that Leila had said this in an attempt to calm her down, but the knowledge that she was speaking with her husband's dead wife in her dream was not at all reassuring. But Leila just continued to gaze at her, the chocolate irises of her bright eyes swimming in a sea of red, as if waiting for a response, and as Jasmine lowered her eyes to the floor, she eyed the blood dripping down Leila's leg, and the trail of it down the corridor. She could feel her own baby move inside her, as if sensing her mother's fear and nervousness, and Jasmine pressed a hand gently on her stomach, trying to soothe her child. "What happened to...?" she asked quietly, her free hand gesturing towards Leila's stomach.

The dead girl's eyes lowered, and when she spoke, Jasmine could now detect the sadness in her voice, the sadness that matched her smile. "I understand that if they had found me sooner, they could've saved the baby," Leila said, and as blood began to gush down from her eyes, Jasmine realised that the girl was crying, and that she was on the verge of it herself. "I knew our baby was going to be a boy, I could feel it, and that's what he wanted. But they didn't get a chance..."

Jasmine let out a cry as Leila's legs appeared to be unable to hold her body up, and she lunged for the girl, only to find her hands going through her. Feeling awkward staring over this ghost, Jasmine fell to her knees in front of her, trying to look up into Leila's face under the thick curtain of hair. Her throat tightened momentarily, before she spoke. "Leila, did he know you were pregnant?" Jasmine asked, her voice soft.

Leila nodded her head, before looking up at the Queen through lidded eyes. "He knew, it's why he blames himself," she whispered, the red tears still flowing down her cheeks.

"Why does he blame himself?"

"I don't know," Leila replied, her voice hoarse. "I'm the one to blame, I'm the one that refused to listen to him. And he couldn't have stopped me – the army had called him away... he was intending to quit the army when the baby was born, to be with us... and he left the army after he found out what happened, but the army don't let a captain just walk away."

Jasmine felt a chill sweep through her body as she recalled the scars across Jafar's front.

Despite the fact that Jasmine couldn't touch her, despite the fact that she was certain that she should be feeling some sort of jealously towards the woman, Jasmine wanted nothing more than to comfort Leila, realising that they were all in the same boat. None of them had asked for the cruel blows that had been delivered to them; they had all simply tried to deal with it the best they could, some better than others. "You're telling me this... why don't you just tell Jafar that it's not his fault?" Jasmine asked uncertainly.

Leila looked up at her now, her eyes wide as she shook her head. "I can't... I can't come to him like this, I want his last memory of me to be good ones; I can only watch over him," she whispered, his voice pleading.

_Fantastic. So scare me instead._

"But I need you to do something for me, Jasmine," Leila continued, a statement and not a question, and Jasmine sighed inwardly. She'd been afraid of that.

"What is it?" she asked, careful not to agree to anything that she hadn't heard yet.

Leila clasped her hands against her chest, and her request surprised Jasmine. "Protect Jafar."

"Protect Jafar?" Jasmine repeated, her voice high with confusion and the overwhelming urge to laugh, but the look of torture on Leila's face killed the urge. "The people are the ones that need protecting from _him;_ what does he need protection from?"

"Himself."

"How?"

"By protecting yourself. Please."

As the girls stood, Jasmine found herself nodding an agreement to the request, which on its own sounded so strange but in her heart, Jasmine understood it.

She watched as small smile broke out on Leila's face, and they closed their eyes as Jasmine felt Leila's lips very lightly press against her own, rough lips against smooth lips. She did not attempt to fight the ghost, knowing without realising that Leila only desired to share the connection with the only other person who had been in her shoes. "Thank you, Jasmine," Leila breathed against Jasmine's lips. "May Allah help you."

And before she moved away, Leila's eyes opened wide, and Jasmine felt a shudder of fright pass over her as the bony, bleeding hand pressed against her pregnant stomach. "And may he help this little one, for I believe you will be meeting her very soon."

With that, Jasmine watched as Leila's hand slipped through her skin, and she had to hold herself from screaming as she felt the twist in her stomach, the kicking of her baby, the rush of blood racing out of her. She stared up at Leila, begging her not to do this, not to make her suffer the way Jafar had, and just before she passed out from pain, Jasmine felt her eyes close now, willingly, on their own.

And when she woke again, she woke with a start, the pain shooting around her body, and Jasmine had to press her lips tightly together in order not to make a sound.

She uncurled her body gently from the chair in the chambers she shared with Jafar, who remained asleep in their bed, unaware of his wife's awakening. It was dark out, but Jasmine knew that her baby didn't care what the time was. All she knew was the baby waiting impatiently inside her, ready to go, and the fluid that now covered the seat she was on, and drenching her nightgown, was her body's indicator of that.

Carefully, her hands supporting her back, she crept around to Jafar's side of the bed, kneeling down slowly and shaking his shoulder, desperate to wake him up, and she smiled when she saw his eyes open tiredly.

"She wants to meet us, now."

*

Dawn was breaking as Aladdin moved down the corridors of the palace, towards the commotion that had awoken him earlier. He did not have far to travel to find the source of a noise – Jafar and the Sultan waiting outside a closed door, the Sultan waiting calmly with excitement, and Jafar stalking the corridor, the frustration and impatience clearly showing on his face.

Neither noticed the boy coming towards them, until he spoke. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice cautious.

The Sultan clapped his hands merrily. "She's about to have the baby!"

"She is?" Aladdin asked, his voice warm at the idea, before he frowned in annoyance. "How come no one told me?"

"Why would anyone tell _you?_" Jafar demanded, whirling on his step midstride and glaring at Aladdin, his harshness firmly in place despite the happiness that was taking place about him on the other side of the door. "You didn't need to know, it's not your child!"

"Come, now – " the Sultan began, attempting to make some sort of peace between the two men, but found himself stream-rolled.

"It doesn't matter if it's not my child!" Aladdin shouted, his frustration towards the entire event beginning to explode at a most inconvient time. "I'm sure Jasmine would want me here!"

"What makes you so certain?"

"Because she really loves – "

"Would the lot of you shut up?!"

The three men turned guilty towards the door that had opened, to meet the nurse that stood in the doorway, short in stature but the hands on her hips and the dark glare on her face more than made up for her lack of height. She ignored Aladdin, and turned her attention to the older men. "I already told you two, go away! The Queen is already under pressure at the moment and the last thing she needs is you lot shouting out here, and no, again, you can't come in!"

The last part of her speech was directed to Jafar, who had opened his mouth to speak, but decided not to say anything at the answer to his silent question.

The nurse sighed. "Look, your majesty," she looked up at the Sultan, her voice quieter now. "You should know by now that this sort of thing will take hours, you have no excuse for waiting around. So could you please take these two off and make yourselves useful, and someone will let you know when the baby has arrived?"

With that, the door was slammed shut in the men's faces, the nurse not bothering to wait for a response. There was quiet for a moment, before Jafar sighed and turned on his heel. "I'm going to go eat, there's no point in waiting around."

Aladdin watched in disbelieve, as the baby's father and grandfather began to walk away down the corridor, their conversation turning away from the event happening. He felt his teeth clench as he watched them, and could not help the shout that burst from his mouth. "How can you think of doing anything else at a time like this?"

The Sultan and Jafar froze and turned to face him, and before he could be stopped, Jafar glared at the boy. "Are you deaf?" he asked, a growl evident through his teeth. "This will take _hours_. If you want to sit and wait, that's fine; don't expect anyone else to."

Aladdin watched in anger as the two walked away, before sliding down the wall to sit next to the door, to wait.

*

It hadn't been long before Aladdin himself had grown bored of waiting, upon the realisation that the nurse really had meant that the birth could take hours. It wasn't until another nurse found him in the courtyard late in the morning and beckoned him over, with a small smile on her lips, that he returned to Jasmine's room, and silently stepped inside.

The room was bare, the faint autumn wind from outside gently rustling the curtains. The Sultan greeted him excitedly, but with a small finger to his lips to warn Aladdin to be quiet, and lead the boy over to the bed in the centre of the room.

Jasmine sat up against a small mountain of pillows, her hair out and spilling over them, her body nearly lost under the amount of covers that had been placed on her to keep out any chill. He spied Jafar hovering above her, his hands resting on Jasmine's shoulders, as if keeping guard over her and the little bundle of white and pink blankets secured in her arms.

Aladdin tried to fight back the smile, despite the dark look that crossed Jafar's face as he came closer, his fingers gently tightening on Jasmine's shoulders. She looked up as he sat next to the bed, her attention distracted from the tiny baby, and she smiled at him, a smile of happiness but one that echoed the tiredness that showed in her eyes.

"Aladdin, hi," she near-whispered, her voice tired also but pleased to see her friend. Slowly and gingerly, she twisted her body to become face-to-face with him, pulling away from the cool embrace of her husband, and she gently lowered the bundle of blankets down for Aladdin to see. "I want you to meet her... this is Princess Aziza."

Aladdin studied Aziza quietly, the sleeping baby taking no notice of the world around her. Despite rarely having seen a baby, Aladdin thought she was perfect – a fine mess of dark hair, small curved lips, and long black eyelashes resting against smooth, cinnamon skin. "Powerful and beloved..." Aladdin murmured, the meaning of the child's name echoed around the room softly. "It fits."

"Doesn't it?" Jasmine agreed, her smile one that only a mother could produce, as she gazed down at her daughter tiredly. "Do you want to hold her?"

His heart lifted, excited at the idea of holding such a precious thing, until he glanced up, to see the scowl on Jafar's face at the very idea. He could hear the Sultan sigh, and deciding that right now, it was better to play things safe for Aziza's sake, he declined. "Not right now," Aladdin muttered, gently stroking Aziza's cheek lightly with one finger. "But she's beautiful, Jas."

He swallowed tightly as Jasmine gently gathered her daughter back, and then as she looked up at her husband. "She is, isn't she?" she asked, her words meant as a response for Aladdin, but not the warm, genuine, loving smile that swept onto her face, the one directed for the husband above her.

It was all too much for Aladdin, as he walked quickly across the room and out the door, away from his nightmare.

_

* * *

_

_TBC_


	22. Aziza

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: Chapters might be a little delayed now in coming, due to real life taking a weird turn with a new job and writing professionally being on the cards. But this story will be finished, sooner rather than later._

_Enjoy what will possibly be the last 'fluffy' chapter of the story... _

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

Aziza screamed.

The Sultan had informed Jasmine that she'd been a quiet baby when she was born, a perfect little princess that slept through most nights without a peep. By this assumption, Jasmine figured that Jafar had been the loudest baby in Arabia, as after a month, Aziza refused to sleep through the night; she would wake up several times for multiple times, as if she asked to be fed, allowed her parents to fall asleep again and then remembering that she needed to be changed, too.

Occasionally, Jasmine would bring her to bed with them, and these would be the only nights that the three of them would be able to sleep solidly, with the baby cuddled close to her mother. But Jafar had put his foot down on this idea after the third evening, when he'd declared that it wasn't healthy for the baby to be sleeping with them, and besides, he argued, it creeped him out to have his daughter in the room when he was trying to be intimate with Jasmine.

"She's a baby, and she's asleep," Jasmine had argued in a whispered voice, wrapping her legs around his back, silently willing him to stay buried inside her, gently squeezing her muscles against him.

But an action that used to send him over the edge now failed to excite him, and Jasmine would only sigh in annoyance as Jafar scrambled off her, scooping Aziza off the bed beside them and taking her away to her nursery, where she would enviably scream, as she was now.

Jafar kept his eyes shut against Aziza's screaming, and for what not was the first time, he wondered if getting a nanny for the little one was such a bad idea. But Jasmine had put her foot down, arguing that she would be damned if some stranger raised her child. And so Jafar was forcing himself to attend to Aziza himself, especially at the times like this when before either of them made an attempt to get up, and especially when he'd feel a sharp, sudden kick to his legs.

"You get up," he heard Jasmine mumble against her pillows.

Jafar sat up now, glaring down at his wife beside him, her hair covering her face. "I went to her last time!"

In response, he received a stifled yawn. "Yes... well..."

Jafar sighed as sleep took over Jasmine once again, her weary body collapsing under the weight of tiredness. But he was resigned, so he got up slowly and shuffled through the doorway to the adjourning room, moving across to the white, ghost-like crib in the middle of the dark room, a bed covered in lace and silk. He closed his eyes tightly, his hands clenching the side of the crib, as if hoping he could force Aziza to become quiet, but she only continued to scream, and he finally opened his eyes to stare down at his crying daughter.

"What is it now, Aziza?" he asked tiredly, in a vain hope that she might understand him.

For her part, Aziza sniffled and pushed her fist into her mouth, before blinking and screaming once again.

Jafar sighed again, something he'd seemed to be doing more of over the last month, and picked her up, cringing against the crying against his ear. He had to keep telling himself that it wouldn't be long before she understood anything he said, and would actually be able to answer his questions with something other than tears. "Aziza, be quiet," he ordered, but jiggling her gently the way he'd watched Jasmine do to calm her, and he heard his daughter's cries sniffle down a little. "You will wake your mother."

He could detect the faintest of sighs against her neck as he held her against his chest, feeling the soft sobs shake her little body. She wasn't wet, and Jasmine had only woken a couple of hours prior to feed her. Surely she wasn't hungry yet, and Jafar didn't want to be the one to drag Jasmine out of sleep and in to feed the girl. So what did she have to cry about?

Jafar waited long enough until he heard nothing but silence, and attempted to lay Aziza back into her crib, but as he did so, she started screaming again, her tiny hands flinging up towards him.

"Alright," he muttered, cradling her again and noting glumly as her cries began to quieten again. "But you're not going into the bedroom, do you understand?"

He walked slowly towards one of the white chairs next to the curtains, shifting Aziza against him until they were both comfortable. From his angle, he couldn't see the dim candlelight that he knew would be flickering in Agrabah, even at this time of night. Through the sheer veil, he could only see the dark velvet sky, the little diamond stars dotting across the heavy fabric, knowing that two of those diamonds were his from long ago.

But then he felt Aziza slump against him, her tears giving way to soft baby dreams, and Jafar held her closer, protecting her from the world outside, protecting his girls that were his here and now.

*

In the morning, it didn't take long for Jasmine to spot the open nursery door, as it occurred to her that Jafar hadn't returned to bed after checking on Aziza, and nor had Aziza cried since he'd gone in. Silently slipping on her robe, she moved towards the doorway and peeked in, and the sight that greeted her made her heart race.

Jafar and Aziza were tangled up asleep in one of the nursery chairs, Aziza in a long, white floaty nightgown and him in nothing more than black silk pants. His long hands wrapped around her body carefully, and her head was buried against his shoulder, his chin dipped down towards her was if whispering into her little ear.

Jasmine smiled, and quickly removed herself from the room, knowing that if Jafar caught her watching him in such a state, that there would be hell to pay.

*

But while the rulers of Agrabah were thrilled over Aziza's birth, the citizens of Agrabah did not feel their joy completely.

It wasn't that the city folk weren't happy to see a child born into the royal family; Jasmine's pregnancy was something that they had celebrated, and something many had looked forward to, looking forward to meeting the young one that would eventually take over the city. But the young one had turned out to be a little girl, and not the little boy that many had hoped for.

The people that had remembered Jasmine's birth had very nearly felt crushed by Aziza's birth, the second of two princesses in a row born, and many felt a personal betrayal, believing that a prince should be born and take over the throne in a traditional manner – despite this belief, there was no such ruling in Agrabah for men to only ascend; rather, it was to be the first born, and in the last several generations, this had turned out to be the _only_ born, not dependent on the sex of the child.

But it didn't stop the quiet rage that was building up below the palace, the angry tempers that carried over the rooftops at night. It was only when certain people, people who spoke as a voice for the citizens, had started disappearing that the anger began to simmer down.

The guards would arrive in the darkest hour of the night to the ringleaders' homes, swiftly and silently removing them from the home and removing them from Agrabah, disappearing over the horizon and never to be seen again, the only explanation ever given to the families being, "on Sorcerer Jafar's rule due to acts of treason".

And slowly, the frustration began to fade, no one willing to go into the disappearance vortex, many waiting with baited breath as they had before Jasmine had fallen pregnant; all hoping now that she would fall pregnant again soon, with the correct child.

*

As Aziza grew over her first year, it was clear that she had inherited the independent and stubborn streaks that her parents held. For the small Princess, curiosity wouldn't kill the cat – it would kill the child.

By the time Aziza was crawling, she spent most of her days in the throne room of the palace, lying on bunny rugs and surrounded by numerous toys that would be quickly scattered around the room, with the occasional one stepped on and sending the unfortunate person flying to the ground, causing the child to make a sound of approval. But while there would be always someone around to keep an eye on her, she would wait until their back was turned before crawling across the room as fast as she could, her tiny legs shifting quickly under her stomach and her eyes bright, only to be defeated when hands would reach out of the sky to collect her, and place her back on the rugs.

But despite the glimpse of the next room being taken away from her, Aziza never minded the hands that picked her up, always happy to feel the comfort of fingers wrapped around her.

The small, wrinkly hands of her grandfather, the ones that tickled her and made her laugh a sweet baby laugh, a man who was thrilled to have a long-awaited grandchild.

The long, slender hands of her father, who she could hear the scold in his voice, but would always give her a comforting squeeze before placing her near her toys once more.

But it was the sweet, small hands of her mother that Aziza loved to feel, and the warmth of her breast, the honeyed, perfumed scent of her skin, and the gentle press of her mother's kiss against her head.

But she also knew that there was a fourth person, the man that if he passed her near the doorway to freedom, that would look down at her with pain in his heart before moving on, making no attempt to rescue her, the vague voice to her ears declaring that she was her parents' problem, and not his.

Jasmine couldn't ignore the curiosity that crossed her daughter's face when Aladdin was nearby, the only one who made no acknowledgement of the girl – even Razoul would greet Aziza if he came across her, spending a precious few minutes with the little one between disappearing citizens. It was when Aziza had began to reach for people that Jasmine could clearly see the fascination; the little arms that would reach up for herself or Jafar if they were nearby quickly, but her arms going up hesitantly for Aladdin, only for Jasmine's heart to break when Aziza's face crumpled at Aladdin's avoidance of her.

The Queen had attempted to talk to Aladdin about the issue, not wanting to see her little girl sad. "Hate Jafar for this; hate me if you have to," Jasmine had warned to a stony face. "But don't hate Aziza due to your own frustration, it's not her fault."

These were the words that rang in Aladdin's ears as he had walked past the nursery one afternoon, his ears pricking at the sound of the baby's crying from the room. It quickly became clear that Jafar nor Jasmine were around to soothe their daughter's tears, and it quickly became apparent that Aladdin couldn't just walk away when Aziza might need help. With a heavy feeling in his heart, Aladdin entered the room for the first time, not wanting to go to Satan's spawn but unable to ignore it, either.

He watched as the bewilderment crossed the Princess' face as Aladdin looked down into her crib, despite the tears in her eyes. "Hi," Aladdin said slowly, feeling rather stupid talking to a baby that couldn't really understand him. "What is it?"

Aziza continued to cry, and he regretfully picked her up, changing her with speed and skills that he wasn't aware he had. "There you go – all clean," he murmured, watching the baby uncomfortably as her eyes now calmly stared up at him.

It wasn't that he hated this child; there was no way he could hate an innocent baby. It was just that watching Aziza crawl around and gurgle away to herself, the brightness that appeared on her face when Jafar came into her view. The realisation that Aziza could've been his future child with Jasmine was painful for Aladdin, with Jafar's mocking that she should've been rightfully his not helping any matters. A child that had been created in what Aladdin was certain was for the purposes of just having an heir, rather than of the act of false love that Jasmine had perfected in playing towards Jafar, no matter what her heart might want, or truly feel.

But Jasmine was right – none of it was Aziza's fault, and she was too sweet and lovely a baby to put any blame on, especially when she smiled a toothless smile towards Aladdin, and he couldn't help the smile that he returned to her.

_

* * *

_

_TBC_


	23. Missing

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: Chapters will be uploaded on at most a weekly basis for the time being, as real life at the moment isn't giving me much time for writing this little story. On the bright side, there's maybe only about six or so chapters left to go after this one until the end of the story, so hold tight._

_SS – I intend to go back through each chapter after the story is completed with a fine-tooth combine to fix the errors; if I do so now then this will never be finished :)__! Hopefully these later chapters are better in regards to the spelling and grammar, but I'm glad you're enjoying the story despite it!_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

_Five Years Later_

Jasmine's mind floated on a dark, perfumed cloud of pleasure, the sweet vapour swimming around her body and enveloping it. She did not wish to open her eyes, but she could feel the burst of stars twinkling underneath her until they faded away, leaving behind a hazy wash of silver, and she could hear his voice calling her name slowly, throatily, in an attempt to bring her back down to earth, though she knew that he was as far away as she was.

Regrettably, she opened her eyes, and smiled slowly at the man above her, feeling her tense muscles beginning to relax against the bed.

Jafar hovered over her, barely holding himself up and not wanting to crash down on top of her. He leant his head down towards hers, and she could feel his breath against her cheek, as she sighed contentedly, her foot pressing into his legs to keep him inside of her.

For a short time, nothing was said, and all that could be heard on the clear night was their panting, their struggles to bring their breathing into check, their bodies into check.

And then Jafar spoke, his voice more normal but still distant and hazy. "Are you still sure about this, 'mine?" he asked, pulling his head up again to look down at her, his gaze drifting down between them towards her stomach. "You don't have to..."

"It's a bit late now, isn't it?" Jasmine replied, following his stare before catching his eye.

Then she smiled wickedly up at him, and she lowered her voice to a whisper, to say the words that she knew would cause the dark desire to fire up in her eyes, that would awaken his body despite how exhausted he currently felt.

"It's a bit late, oh great, powerful sorcerer..."

*

"Wake up!"

At first, Aladdin tried to ignore the small, demanding voice piping up at the end of his bed, his mind vaguely wondering what time it was.

"Wake up now!"

Still he tried to ignore it, and now he tried to block out the weak sunlight, dangerously attempting to coax him awake. The sun didn't feel warm on his skin, which made him now wonder just how early it was, and despite the fact he knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep now, he stubbornly kept his eyes shut.

That was, until, he felt the small hand slap him across the face, then the quick shuffling of feet over his sheets, then a heavy plonk at the end of his bed. Aladdin sat up, holding his face, and glared tiredly at Aziza, who glared back at him in annoyance.

"You have to get up now, Uncle Al," she declared, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"You didn't have to hit me!" Aladdin sighed and rubbed his eyes, in a weak attempt to wake up. "What time is it anyway...?"

He watched as Aziza counted on her fingers, her lips moving silently as she thought. Eventually she held up both hands to Aladdin, a bright smile on her small face. "Six!"

"Six?" Aladdin gasped, and then groaned inwardly. "Aziza, go back to bed, or go to your mother!"

"I can't," Aziza complained, biting her lip, a habit that she'd picked up from Jasmine. "Daddy said if I wake them one more time in the morning, he'll lock me in the dungeon."

"Brilliant. So you wake me up instead." Aziza stared at Aladdin nervously, then brightened when he smiled at her and opened his arms. "Ah, come here, kiddo."

Aladdin ruffled the five year old's hair as she climbed under the sheets next to him, realising that he couldn't be angry with her, even at this ridiculous time of the morning. He especially couldn't be angry when she called him 'Uncle Al', a name that she had called him since she'd started to talk, a name that Jasmine thought was cute and a name that made Jafar clench his teeth every time he heard it (of course, he didn't appreciate being called 'Daddy' either, but Aziza had stubbornly refused to call him 'Father', and he'd realised that there wasn't much he could do about it).

He sometimes felt ashamed of the way he'd treated Aziza when she was an infant, at times like this, when she buried herself against her 'uncle'. For the most part, the Princess had grown into an adorable child, and according to the Sultan, a physical replica of her mother. But unfortunately, she had a habit of asking the most awkward questions, and the questions would often be directed to her favourite person in all of Agrabah.

"Uncle Al?"

"Yes, Aziza?" Aladdin would ask her.

"What's a street rat?"

Aladdin sighed, both at her question and the innocently curious expression on her face. Not for the first time did he wish that she would ask her parents these questions. "Who said that?" he asked, knowing full well the answer.

"Daddy."

"Why don't you ask him?"

"I did," Aziza continued. "He said that a street rat is a pathetic and deluded and useless little boy who thinks Mamma loves him. Then Mamma heard him and yelled at him. I don't understand."

Aladdin had sighed once more and had cuddled the little Princess, kissing the top of her head, not wishing to lie to her but feeling that it was safer for her this way. Besides, she'd find out when she was older. "I don't understand, either," he murmured.

The questions that she asked when they were alone were ones that he could lie to, and know that she would just take that lie for the truth. The ones that she asked when others were around, such at dinner, were the ones that were more difficult for him to fib the answer, especially when he knew the others knew the truth, such as when she asked him, "Do you love Mamma?"

Aladdin had looked at her nervously across the table, not realising that his staring of Jasmine as she'd left the room had been caught by her daughter, and wished that she'd decided to wait to ask this question until Jafar and the Sultan had left as well, for the Sultan beside him had groaned quietly at Aziza's question, and Jafar was now watching him, amusement in his eyes but the curve of a sadistic smile on the edge of his lips.

He couldn't bring himself to look at the shining eyes of the child. "Aziza, don't ask silly questions... no, I don't."

"Then why were you watching her?"

"I wasn't," he muttered the response, feeling about Aziza's age under the sick gleam in the sorcerer's eyes.

"I saw you!"

He had looked up then, staring at the demanding expression on Aziza's face, but something in his own face must've attached on to her young mind, as she fell quiet, despite the unsatisfied curiosity in her eyes.

And it hadn't stopped her praying to Allah, something that her parents had instilled in her, and the prayer that he and Jasmine had overheard made Aladdin want to gag her.

"... and please make Mamma and Daddy love each other forever and ever and give them a baby so that I can have a brother or sister."

Aladdin had ignored the blush that crossed his face at the young one's prayer, and as he'd looked over to Jasmine on the other side of the doorway, he could see her desperately looking anywhere but at him. "She's being asking lately," Jasmine whispered, so Aziza couldn't hear her.

"Are you?" he asked, his voice quiet and hurting, which only intensified at the cold look Jasmine sent him, before turning away.

"I don't know!"

Aladdin had watched her leave, his heart frozen. Jasmine had grown in the five years, and the love he felt had only grown to envelop him, and when he watched her beauty now, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep the love within him only. She had given up long ago trying to force him to leave, and he tried to not frustrate her out of his love, but he could do little while she was trapped under Jafar's hypnotic spell. But it was a different spell this time, he was sure of it, though he wasn't sure how to encourage Jasmine to break away from it. Aladdin had finally relented, content to sit and wait until Jafar's cruel eye, waiting until Jasmine could finally be free.

*

It was later that day when Aziza had returned to Aladdin, finding both Aladdin and the Sultan sitting at the dining table. She appeared to be frustrated over something in her small world, with the way she clutched a stuffed toy by its ears and swinging it about rather dangerously, before she looked up at Aladdin with fire in her eyes.

"Uncle Al, take me into the city."

The Sultan and Aladdin looked at each other nervously, neither knowing where Jafar nor Jasmine were, and both quietly wondered how to answer Aziza. Her parents had been clear on this constant request from the Princess, and each time, the answer was the same – a firm _no_. Which, unfortunately, made Aziza's desperation to see the city grow greater, to the point that she would constantly try to sneak through the gates with the guards, before Razoul would spot her at the last moment towards freedom and return her to her frustrated mother.

The Sultan had gently informed them that perhaps, if they did take Aziza out into the city for once, that she might stop asking to go – he'd regretted not doing the same with Jasmine, and her first trip out into the city had managed to end in near disaster. But both Jasmine and Jafar were absolutely stubborn on this idea, that the city was no place for their young child.

"Dearest, Aladdin can't take you," the Sultan told his granddaughter now, watching as she peeped up at him over the table. "You need to ask your parents."

"I did," Aziza complained. "Daddy said to ask Mamma, and Mamma said no. They _always _say no."

"Then I'm afraid that you can't go."

Aziza pouted, staring at the floor. "I hate them."

Aladdin pulled the angry little girl up into his lap, retying the ribbons around her pigtails that had become loose. "You don't hate her, Aziza. But I'll tell you what – I'll take you."

Her eyes brightened as the Sultan looked at the boy in a mixture of concern and worriment. "Aladdin, I don't think – "

"Would you? Please?" she asked, her voice happy.

"Of course, kiddo," Aladdin replied, a genuine smile on his face, standing and shifting Aziza into his arms as he did so.

"Aladdin, this isn't a good idea," the Sultan warned, thinking more that it was a rather terrible idea, frightening himself at the fury that his daughter and Jafar would be overcome with if they found that Aladdin had taken their daughter into the city against their wishes. He would've felt the same if someone had suddenly taken Jasmine into the city when she was a child, without his knowledge. "If they found out – "

"Cover for me; if not, cover for her, then," Aladdin confidently reasoned with him, already making his way out of the room with the Princess. "Your Majesty, even you said that she needs to be out in the city at least once."

"I meant for Jasmine or Jafar to take her," the Sultan warned. "It's not up for us to decide to take her out."

Aladdin shrugged, calling out casually behind him as he left the room. "It will only be for a couple of hours, at most; they'll never know she was gone."

After they were gone, the Sultan slowly sat back down in his chair, nervously. Aladdin's promise did very little in an attempt to defeat the fear that he held in his heart.

*

Aziza's trip in the city had started well, even with Razoul questioning Aladdin as they had left the gates, and while Razoul was suspicious about Aladdin's simple explanation of the Queen allowing Aziza into the city with him, he allowed them to leave.

Aladdin had to smile as they walked through the marketplace, the fascination on Aziza's small face reflecting the same fascination he had seen when Jasmine had walked through the same streets for the first time. She watched quietly as the street vendors shouted prices for their goods over the crowd, sniffing the air at the scent of spices, and gasping at the men that could slide swords down their throats without killing themselves. The small Princess watched everything with wide eyes, and it was only when they were leaving and Aladdin had purchased food for her, that he realised that anything was wrong.

"Aziza, here... Aziza?"

Aladdin looked hurriedly around him, knowing that Aziza had only been right beside him second ago. And now there was nothing but more stalls and people pushing past him, not acknowledging the sudden disappearance of the young girl beside Aladdin.

He cautiously walked in both directions, a few steps each way, but she was nowhere to be seen. "Aziza! _Aziza_!" he began to shout, feeling fear beginning to creep into his bones at the idea of losing the Princess in Agrabah, as well as the stare of passer-bys now studying him, wondering why he was calling out the name of the Princess, a name that wasn't very common in the city.

Nervously, Aladdin looked up into the clear, blue sky, and shielded his eyes. The sun was beginning to creep towards the west, and he knew he wouldn't have long to find the Princess, because after dark, he would have very little luck in finding her amongst the buildings, and the idea of Aziza being trapped in Agrabah after dark made the fear in his bones radiate through his body. He knew what could happen to children amongst untrusting hands in the city, especially ones that were still furious about a female heir being born, as for each protester that disappeared, another was created...

_I have to find her_, he thought, beginning to push through the slowly thinning crowd rudely, shouting Aziza's name with more urgency as he walked along the dusty road. He couldn't return to the palace without her – if Jafar didn't kill him instantly if he returned empty handed, Jasmine certainly would.

*

The Sultan looked up nervously as Jafar and Jasmine entered the throne room nervously, their footsteps in sync, his face composed but hers one of concern. "Father, have you seen Aziza?" she called as they walked towards him, her voice shaking slightly. "We can't find her; no one has seen her since this morning."

"She's..."

The Sultan froze as his voice faltered. Aladdin was supposed to have returned quite some time earlier, and the sky was shimmering towards sunset quickly. He couldn't cover for him, for Aziza, now that her parents where asking if he knew of her whereabouts. He wasn't sure he could lie to his daughter like that and live with himself.

"Where is she, Wadi?" Jafar questioned, his voice calm but with the dangerous edge lurking in it.

He closed his eyes, breathing heavily, before opening them once more. "Aladdin," the Sultan spoke quietly. "He took her out into Agrabah."

For a moment, absolute serenity covered both Jafar and Jasmine's faces, before the Sultan's words connected with their minds.

Jasmine was the first to erupt. "He's done _what?!_" she shouted, her face now showing the fury the Sultan had feared he would see. "I told her that she was not to go! Jafar! What did you tell her?!"

"I told her to ask you!" Jafar snapped back at her, unable to catch himself from realising that it was pointless to argue with his wife in this occasion, that doing so wouldn't cause Aziza to appear. He looked down at the Sultan instead, trying to smooth his voice down to its customary calm, but unable to stop the sneer in his tone at the idea of making Aladdin pay. "Wadi, when are they to return?"

"By now."

_

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_TBC_


	24. History

**An Agreement's Small Print**

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**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Jafar often saw the colour red.

Directly after black, it was a favourite colour of his, the colour of what could be the harshest anger and the most sensual passion. It was a colour that had decked his few rooms of the palace as a royal vizier, and now that the palace was his, it was a colour that decked every room, in some way or form. But he rarely truly saw it emotionally; his mind was a constant, calm of azure blue, often calm, especially in the last few years.

In that way, in several ways, his wife was his opposite – a woman who still wore blue, a challenge that he'd long given up when he'd given her the new wedding ring; the chiffon sapphire suited her body as perfectly as the clear diamonds suited her hand. And mentally, she often saw red, though no one but him and the urchin rarely saw it.

But now Jafar was fairly certain that the entire city of Agrabah could see it now, as Jasmine's shouting voice echoed violently around the marble throne room.

"Where are they, Father?" she screamed now, wrenching her arm away from Jafar's collected grasp, forcing him to flex his fingers back into normal shape. "Why aren't they back yet?"

"I do not know, my love," the Sultan pleaded, attempting to take Jasmine's hands within his own. "I'm sure Aladdin will return soon."

"He won't want to return."

The Sultan continued to plead with his daughter, deciding it was best to ignore Jafar's murmur. "Dearest, he wouldn't remain in the city after dark with Aziza."

But Jasmine was still seeing red, and Jafar and the Sultan stepped slightly away from her as she shut her eyes against the flame of her face. How _dare _Aladdin take her daughter from the palace, out into the streets of the city where who knows what could happen, when he knew that they did not wish for her to leave the palace walls, at least not until she was a little older, not when she could be easily lost amongst the people.

And over the years, when long ago she might've simply told Aladdin off for taking Aziza into the world, she realised that she rather agreed with Jafar – Aladdin wasn't going to want to return, and she had a right mind to separate Aziza from him the moment that they returned. It was one thing to be waiting around with his ridiculous hope that she might leave her life for one with him, to pull her out of her safety net into the streets, but it was another for him to take her daughter.

Jasmine opened her eyes, feeling the energy that had raced through her body when Aladdin had told her that she'd make an unfit mother, racing around her body yet again. But through her fury, Jafar's face simmered into view, and then she heard him order coolly, "Calm yourself."

Her breath sharpened, the ice in his voice cloaking her, turning her fire to gentle water. His tone was as overly harsh as ever, his face calm, but she knew that secretly that he was as furious as she was, that he needed Aziza back as much as she did, and they both knew where her loyalty completely and utterly lay.

The Sultan watched them carefully, their eyes studying one another, and cleared his throat uncomfortably, causing them to break away. His words for Jasmine, but he studied Jafar nervously, fearful of the apparent peace on his face, sure that it was a front for whatever ugly emotion was about to erupt. "It may be best if we, with Razoul and the others, entered the city to search for them... for her."

"We will go," Jasmine confirmed quietly, her voice one of quiet, but carefully measured quiet. "Father, you stay here, in case they return and – "

"Wadi!"

Aladdin, quickly followed by Razoul, had barely taken three steps into the grand room before Jafar's peace burst at the sound of the boy's voice, Jasmine's previous anger now taking over him, smoking nearly lighting up his feet as he stalked quickly towards him, wrapping his hand amongst Aladdin's vest and yanking his face up to meet his, the frightened expression on the street boy's face up against the dangerous snarl on the sorcerer's. "_You!_" he roared, sending the other three to jump slightly. "_Where _is my _daughter?!"_

"Jafar – "

Aladdin's eyes flickered over to the Sultan, then forced himself to look at Jafar's murderous face, one he'd been dreading the entire walk back to the palace, but not dreading as much as the numb pretty face behind her husband. "She's in the city," he quickly responded. "I lost her and I tried looking and I came back to – "

"You lost her?" came Jasmine's voice, a voice full of horror and incredibility, and Aladdin watched as she came up to stand beside Jafar, but to his surprise, she made no movement to stop the ruler from destroying his vest. "You've left her alone in Agrabah?"

Aladdin had no response for her, having previously tried to think of a reasonable explanation for answering the question that he knew she would ask, and knowing that with each step, he was falling quickly into the wrong for leaving the Princess alone.

He couldn't bring himself to answer her, and allowed his eyes to fall regrettably to the floor as he felt Jasmine sweep past him, without care for his situation. "I'm going out to find her."

To Aladdin's surprise, he felt himself dropped heavily to the marble ground, as Jafar suddenly let go of him, Jasmine's words bringing a change in demeanour to the man. The others were at a loss on the expression of the sorcerer's face, a cautious atmosphere surrounding him but his eyes pleading. "I don't want you to go; it's not safe."

Jasmine could nearly hear the silent _please _in his mind, something he only said when desperation was failing him, and if she wasn't taken over by concern for Aziza, she might've been amazed that he'd said something so heavy, with his guard falling down, so publicly. "I'm going," she confirmed, in a voice that left no room for argument, and Jafar could only watch as she walked boldly past him, sweeping through the open doors and beginning to make her way down the hundreds of stairs to the quickly darkening city below.

The smallest part of him was watching Leila walk out those doors, walking out into the danger that she was so innocently unaware of, unconcerned for the tiny new life inside her. And while he knew that Jasmine would be safe, it was a nagging feeling that ate at him, and Jafar struggled to keep himself standing in his throne room, rather than running down the stairs after his wife and somehow physically restraining her from leaving him, or at least following her to the ends of the earth in her search for their daughter.

Feeling everyone's curious stares on him, he averted his eyes, pulling his act together quickly and demolishing his thoughts of such protection that he wished to offer, before turning his attention to Razoul. The loyal guard would be his replacement. "Go with her," Jafar ordered, his voice nearly normal but with a tremble in it that he couldn't push away. To his relief, Razoul asked no questions, and simply bowed before moving quickly to chase the Queen.

Aladdin cleared his throat, and Jafar's hands clenched. If there was one thing that could hurl him out of his hopeless love for Jasmine, it was that damned street rat. "So, if she's going, I should probably stay here in case Aziza – "

The returning of Jafar's hand amongst the fabric of Aladdin's vest made the boy's small attempt of fixing the situation come crashing to the ground. "Wadi will stay here," the sorcerer hissed, dragging Aladdin behind him and out of the palace, without care for the fact that the boy was having trouble walking quickly behind him. "_You_ will be coming with me."

*

In between two closed stalls, Aziza huddled, waiting. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, and while her eyes were desperate to shut out the nearly empty street in front of her, she couldn't bring herself to shut them.

_Please, Mamma, Daddy... please find me._

When her parents had allowed her to explore the palace on her own, her mother had warned her that if she became lost, that she should stay in the one place and someone would find her. If she kept trying to find her way back, she and her searcher would continue to miss each other. And so, once she realised that she was lost, Aziza hid between the nearest stall, and waited, knowing that someone would come collect her.

And she would stay put, despite the crowds thinning, despite the slowly darkening sky, despite the quickly chilling air. She was beginning to feel cold, and hungry. But she couldn't leave, otherwise they wouldn't be able to find her.

In years to come, Aziza would realise that perhaps, following the man who had managed to put the sword down his throat was not the best idea, especially when Aladdin hadn't been keeping an eye on her. But for now, all she knew was that she was lost, and while she could see her home towering above the city, she had no idea of how to return.

Aziza glanced up amongst the rooftops, spotting the first of the bright stars in the purple sky, and was begging the little tears at the corner of her eyes not to fall when she saw the shadow of a large guard fall across the street in front of her, and she quickly uncurled herself at the familiar figure that stepped into the darkness.

"Mamma!"

Aziza's eyes lit up as her mother, whom Aziza believed to be the most wonderful person in the world, ran towards her; her long dark hair flowing freely down her back, her body wrapped in a demure gown of sky blue and miniscule gold chains. Her mother didn't even seem to care that her beautiful dress became covered in dirt as she fell to her knees in the dust, holding out her arms, which Aziza immediately dived into.

Jasmine gently smoothed Aziza's pigtails, pressing her lips lightly against the side of her daughter's head. "Oh sweetheart, are you alright?" she murmured, pulling Aziza away slightly, smiling a smile mixed of relief and fear. "You stayed in one spot just like I asked, my good girl."

"I'm sorry," Aziza whispered, her voice trembling. "I won't run away again."

"I know you won't," Jasmine replied, standing slowly and pulling Aziza up into her arms. There was no need for her to scold her daughter – she knew Jafar would be able to do that on his own. For now, she had her daughter back, and that was all that mattered.

"Razoul!" she called, pulling the guard's attention back from wherever he had diverted it away to, in an attempt to not being seen standing around awkwardly. "Let's find the others."

*

The three ran into the others at the palace gates, and to absolutely no surprise of Jasmine's, things hadn't changed – the stormy look on Jafar's face was still deadly, and Aladdin appeared considerably worse for wear, being shoved in the back in front of the sorcerer with the snake staff. Jasmine couldn't make out the words between the pair, words that appeared to become uglier with each passing breath, but they fell into silence at the sight of each other, and as she felt Aziza slink against her at her father's expression, she watched as the smallest of calm smiles flickered on his face, but with the fury still evident in his eyes.

Aladdin, on the other hand, brightened at the sight of the girls, but it was a brightness that was immediately snuffed out as Jasmine pulled away from him. It was a quick, silent movement, but one that was cemented in his mind; the moment that for the time being, he was bewildered as to why she seemed to no longer trust him.

And also to his bewilderment, he felt Razoul grab him from the scruff of his neck, not in an overly harsh way but with authority, as Jafar stepped around them, his fingers pressing gently against his daughter's cheek but his gaze and words for his wife.

"Go inside; I will be there soon."

Without a backwards glance, Jasmine began to make her way up the long stairs, Aziza becoming heavier with each step but this only forced Jasmine to hold her closer. And the three men watched from below, with only the smallest wind drifting through the leaves of trees as they watched Jasmine ascend and enter the palace.

It was only then that anything was spoken.

"Now."

The last thing that Aladdin saw was Jasmine pulling the door shut on him, as he felt Razoul's fist against his skull, sending him spiralling into darkness.

_

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_TBC_


	25. Endgame

**An Agreement's Small Print**

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A/N: This story's going to wind up being twenty-nine chapters in total, so only another four chapters to go after this one. Now that the end is in sight, these chapters will probably come out faster, so everyone can enjoy a complete story (I know at least one reader waiting for this!) Then I'll go back and clean everything up._

_Glad you've enjoyed it so far Random Reviewer, your comment made me laugh Deshwitat :)__, and thanks Mad Madame for staying on with each chapter! Enjoy readers, reviewers and lurkers, this chapter and the lead-up to the end..._

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**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Aladdin shivered as he came around, from both the cold of the dungeon and the bitter taste of blood in his mouth. Through the heaviness in his head, he could sense the presence of someone nearby, someone watching him, but dreading the idea of opening his eyes on to face Jafar again, he kept them closed for now, preferring to spit the blood blindly.

He was thankful for the fact that whoever had thrown him in here had decided to tie his hands behind his back, rather than locked above his head as per his previous encounter. Moving his body slowly backwards, hoping the movement was escaping the other's sight, Aladdin pressed his wrists up against the rough stone wall, rubbing the rope quickly against it, so he could fight against whoever was nearby, fight his way back to Jasmine.

"Don't do it, Aladdin. It's not worth it."

Aladdin's eyes flew open at the voice, a voice he hadn't expected to hear, and he stopped immediately. His eyes took several moments to focus in the dark, the only light coming from the moon outside the window high above, but he quickly made out the large figure of Razoul leaning against the opposite wall, his eyes trained on him, his curved sword gleaming.

Aladdin watched him for a moment, unable to see what sort of expression was on the guard's face, before his stare flickered to a corner of the room, the corner where he'd once seen Jafar dressed as a prisoner, ensuring that by some cruel trick, he wasn't there again. Aladdin wasn't disappointed, and he looked back up at Razoul, the moonlight reflecting the sparkle in his eyes.

"Razoul, could you...?" he began, nodding his head back towards his hands, but his voice trailed off as Razoul shook his head.

"Sorry, Aladdin," he said, his usually gruff voice a little more gentle. "Then both of us will be on his chopping block."

Aladdin cringed, at Razoul's words and at the ringing inside his head. There was a moment's silence, before the guard came closer and sat down in front of the street boy, shifting his weight comfortably.

"Sorry also about knocking you out like that, Jafar's orders," Razoul continued, guessing correctly the source of Aladdin's pain. "Take a minute for it to subside; Jafar's been waiting eight years for this, he can wait another ten minutes."

But as he said this, Razoul had to stop himself from clenching his teeth together, stop himself from taking his sword and doing the job the sorcerer upstairs was waiting to do. Any sympathy for the boy was long gone the moment he'd taken the Princess from the palace, and even then, very little sympathy had been remaining by the time he'd done that anyway. He wanted nothing more than to take Aladdin by his neck and throw him down at Jafar's feet, but as he'd dragged the unconscious body into the palace, the Sultan had requested wearily for him to be gentle. For Jasmine's sake.

Razoul wasn't entirely sure that this was for Jasmine's sake – her anger right now was as quiet as much as the sorcerer's was explosive. But orders were orders, and ever since Jafar revealed himself to be a psychopathic sadist ready for taking over the world, Razoul was non-plussed where the orders came from, the Sultan and the Queen included.

"I don't care what he wants to do," Aladdin said quietly, closing his eyes against the pain. "I know Jasmine sees things from my angle."

Based on everyone's reactions upstairs, Razoul wasn't sure about this, but he wasn't one to get himself involved in royal relationship matters, so he changed subject by pulling himself up to his feet, before wrapping one large hand around Aladdin's forearm and hurling him up as well. "Well, you can find out for yourself."

*

Jasmine watched with a heavy heart as Razoul threw Aladdin down in front of their feet, his knees banging against the marble floor, rather painfully if his expression was anything to go by. A small part of her wanted to go to him, to bring what was her friend up to a more comfortable position, but for the most part, his betrayal hurt her deeply, and for that, she believed that he'd brought the pain upon himself.

She didn't want to be here, perched on the armrest of Jafar's throne, watching the show that judging by the cold, twisted smile on her husband's face, was sure to happen. She wanted to be with her daughter, who had stopped crying once they entered the palace only to start up again when Jafar had started shouting at Aziza for disobeying them; Jasmine had caught him as he'd swung his arm back ready to strike, begging him to remember that she was just a child, to forgive her, like she'd already done.

Jafar had stormed out of the room then, leaving Jasmine to deal with a hysterical child, but much to her relief, he'd returned minutes later to embrace his daughter, simply telling her to never leave the palace again without them.

The Sultan was looking over Aziza now, a little girl that by the time Jasmine was to join Jafar in the throne room, was already asking her mother for Aladdin. And despite the question that Jasmine couldn't answer – she hadn't been sure herself where Aladdin was but if Jafar was involved, he wasn't anywhere good – she wanted to be the one to hold the small Princess, rather than watch her former friend being destroyed at the hands of her lover, as she was sure that this was to happen.

But Jasmine was also sure that Jafar understood this, because as Aladdin was thrown down in front of them, she felt Jafar's fingers move from the skin on her lower back, to curl just under the waistband of her skirt, his non-verbal command to stay by his side.

And she had no choice but to do so, as Jasmine believed what she had finally understood years ago and what she had begged Aladdin to believe – she wouldn't leave Jafar's side; the love she felt ran far too deep for that now, deeper than it had ever ran for Aladdin. But now it was too late for Aladdin to leave of his own accord, and just like she and the Sultan had warned him, Jafar was about to have his day.

It wasn't going to be a good one, she could tell from the expression from her husband's face as he began to stalk his prey, and she made an involuntary move towards him.

Jafar stood over the boy, before kicking him with surprising strength in the stomach, before digging his hand into Aladdin's hair and clearing him up from the ground, not giving in to Aladdin's wincing. "So you thought to take it upon yourself to take Aziza into Agrabah?" he hissed, before spitting out the last word, his breath heavy against Aladdin's face.

Aladdin looked over his shoulder towards Jasmine, sitting frozen on the throne, her face calm but a flicker of fear in her eyes. "Jasmine – "

"Answer me!" Jafar roared, his hand pulling tighter on Aladdin's hair, making him cry out, before dropping him like a stone. "You, you miserable street urchin, kidnapped my daughter – "

"Jafar, he didn't kidnap her!" Jasmine argued behind them, causing both of their attention to be diverted. Aladdin was relieved for the pleading in her voice, hoping that her arguments for him would save him, but confident in knowing that she would ultimately rule over Jafar's eventual decision, because she needed him, just as he needed her. "She just wanted to see the city."

"Well, doesn't that remind me of someone?" Jafar argued back, barely holding back the snap in his voice at the wounded look on his wife's face, Aladdin watching both in confusion.

"Jafar..."

Jafar closed his eyes briefly against Jasmine's begging, knowing what her silent words were, as if closing his eyes could block out the sound of her voice. For anything else, he might've given in; no, he would've given in to her. But not now, not for this. The boy had gone too far this time.

He opened his eyes and shook his head slightly at her, finding little comfort as Jasmine looked down at the floor in submission. He knew he'd have to make this up later, though on what sort of grand scale it was going to have to be he wasn't sure, but he wondered how much of her pain was watching him about to deliver the blow, or her knowledge that if she was in Jafar's place, she would be doing exactly the same thing.

With that, he turned back down to look at Aladdin, the scowl first forced onto his face as he turned, but as he stared the boy down, Jafar felt the scowl grow to be one that was genuine. "Kidnapped or taking her away without our permission, it doesn't matter," he snapped. "The point is that you took our daughter, then lost her, and for that, street boy, you are to be beheaded. Enjoy your last night in the dungeons, with your other rats." Jafar looked up at Razoul, ignoring the soft whimper from his wife and the deadly look Aladdin shot up at him. "Tomorrow, at dawn."

With that, and unable to look at Jasmine, Jafar strode out of the room, his cloak sweeping over Aladdin on his way out.

As Aladdin watched Jasmine's feet hit the ground, making to follow her husband, Aladdin looked up at her, his one last chance. "Jasmine, please, stop him," he begged, his voice hoarse at the idea of death.

But his blood froze in his body as Jasmine looked down at him, with no apparent desire to save him in her face, her eyes full of pity and resentment. "How do you expect me to do that?" she asked, her own voice bitter, not wanting to remain in the room for a moment longer than necessary.

"You're his... his... wife," Aladdin stumbled over the words, his verbal acknowledgement of her relationship with the sorcerer flinging daggers into his heart, one that was already broken by her attitude towards him, at a loss at what had changed. "You can talk sense into him."

"Aladdin, you took my daughter," Jasmine replied, her voice dangerously calm, causing Aladdin to taste the emotion of dislike in his voice at the amount of Jafar's personality that had seemed to rub off onto her. "You took Aziza out into the city, where you lost her, but then you came back. Why didn't you tell a guard out there what happened?"

"I wanted to tell you myself..."

"For what purpose?" she questioned, her voice still managing to remain calm and unaccusing. "What difference would it have made who told me?"

Aladdin remained quiet at this question, knowing that she was right – it wouldn't have mattered. But the mistake of sending himself back to the palace with the news rather than just sending a guard seemed too little to be executed for.

"Anything could've happened to her, Aladdin," Jasmine continued, her voice whispering and strangled, as she felt tears prickle at the corner of her eyes, both at the idea of her daughter lost in Agrabah and at Aladdin's future in the morning. "You know what the people out there can be like, you've lived among them. I can't understand why you left her alone; she loves you, I thought that you cared enough for her not to do something like that to her. Or to me."

Aladdin couldn't look at her, fearing that he would break completely if he did.

"Jasmine, I'm sorry. Please, just stop him – "

"It's a little too late," she replied, fear striking her coldly as she realised that while Aladdin couldn't look up at her, she could look down at him easily, with no love that she had felt for him once upon a time remaining. Her trust in him was gone, and she couldn't remain friends with someone she couldn't trust. "I told you to leave when you had the chance, there's nothing I can do anymore."

With that, not wanting to hear another word, Jasmine followed in Jafar's footsteps, with a blind motion towards Razoul, who hurled Aladdin back up to his feet with no fight from the destroyed boy.

_

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_TBC_


	26. Execution

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: I think this is a first for this story, two chapters written and posted in a single day. On a bit of a roll at the moment, now being able to write the ideas that have been in place since nearly the beginning of the story. Enjoy!_

_Mad Madame: Glad you liked the last chapter so much; hope you like this one as well, even if it involves yet another plot twist..._

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**Chapter Twenty-Six**

In the early hours of the morning, Jasmine's conscious kept her awake. She knew that Jafar was still awake also; with her head on his chest, his breathing was too light to be sleeping, and the fingers on his left hand lazily ran through her hair, gently working out tangles when he came to them.

But wisely, he didn't say a word.

The silence continued from Aziza's room, whom the Sultan had advised had difficulty calming down, but had finally dropped to sleep from the exhaustion of her big day. This hadn't stopped Jasmine from entering her room before bed, from giving her daughter the softest of kisses on her forehead, and she was relieved when Aziza made no stir, so she wouldn't ask why her mother's eyes were red.

Jasmine couldn't have answered the question herself at the time, as she could barely understand why she had had silent tears falling from her eyes on her lengthy walk from the throne room to their quarters. It was only when she'd entered the bedroom and seen the uncertain look on Jafar's face that she understood, the look of a man who was unsure how his wife might be feeling with him sentencing her best friend to death. To his credit, he hadn't commented on her tears; he'd simply extended an arm towards her and she'd cuddled up against him willingly, where they remained in silence.

And she knew that he wouldn't ask unless she said something, because after so many years, they had realised that when it came to emotions, they worked the same way – they could only speak when ready, because if one tried to pull the other out of silence, it would give way to explosive arguments (the Sultan had commented to her that this was rather unhealthy, but then, they hadn't been the healthiest of couples to start with).

Jasmine was grateful for Jafar being co-operative – it gave her time to think, before she spoke to him and put her foot in her mouth.

In her heart, despite how furious she was with Aladdin for betraying her the way he had, Jasmine believed that it was no reason to send him to his death. At the time, she'd believed that Jafar was being overly harsh, the overly-protective parent side of him taking over, the side that only she knew of. She had truly believed that the worst that Jafar would do was expel him to Agrabah for good, banning any return to the palace – not that it would matter in a week, when the Sultan would be the only one there to return to.

But she should've known, should've been prepared, should've realised that Jafar was going to take the opportunity to get rid of Aladdin once and for all. Just because he was always careful in not bringing up the topic with her now didn't mean that he didn't want to do it anymore. He'd spent eight years waiting to be able to murder him, Allah only knew how many times Jasmine had begged him not to do it when she had first wanted Aladdin to leave the palace, and he then resided himself to waiting for a good enough reason to do it, that no one would question. And now he had a good enough reason, Jasmine dreaded the idea of telling him not to do it the way she would dread telling Aziza that she couldn't eat a sugar-filled treat right after someone else giving it to her.

But despite her telling Aladdin that there was nothing that she could do, she had to at least try, if only for her selfish goals, for being able to survive the day in one piece. She would be apart from Aladdin soon enough for good anyway, but there was a difference in leaving Aladdin alive in Agrabah and leaving him as a dismembered corpse.

As if reading her mind, she felt Jafar's hand leave her hair and press against the hand on his chest, trapping it between the scarred skin of his chest and the warm, rough skin of his hand. "Stop it, 'mine; it's uncomfortable," he murmured, the sensation of Jasmine's stroking his scars when she was stressed having turned from soft to annoying.

Jasmine pushed herself up gently to look up over Jafar's face, who studied her wearily, his eyes lazy but alert. His eyes were darker than her own, with this physical feature the only one that Aziza had inherited from him, which made Jasmine worry somewhat for what Aziza's personality might turn out to be like. "Why are you killing him?" she asked quietly, now able to keep her voice steady when only an hour ago, she would've feared for it.

Jafar didn't respond, only staring up at her unblinkingly, nor did she offer an answer. They both knew the answer, anyway.

"I don't want him to die," she continued.

"I know you don't." _But it's not your decision._

Jasmine sighed softly, resting her head down next to his own, the pillow suffocating her face, before bringing herself up again. "Jafar..." she hesitated, before going in for the plunge. "Can we... can I suggest a compromise?"

There was a long silence before: "What sort of compromise?"

His question cheered her a little, the fact that he was at least open to listening to her idea, rather than running away with his own plan and giving no consideration to anyone else, as per the usual. "Well, couldn't we just tell him...?"

*

Dawn came and went, and Aladdin watched the sun slowly rise higher in the sky during the morning through the dungeon window. With every heartbeat he felt in his body, he slowly started to believe that perhaps the next heartbeat wouldn't necessarily be his last; Jafar _had_ said at dawn, or at least, that's what Aladdin had thought he said.

Then again, maybe Jafar had simply forgotten, which he truly knew was unlikely as the palace suddenly burning down and killing him anyway. But Aladdin could think of little reason as to why they hadn't killed him yet, and the only reasons he could think of were all as unlikely as the first one. No one had even come for him yet, and he wondered briefly how hard he could hit his head against the wall, sparing anyone the pain of coming down.

Maybe Jafar had just decided to leave Aladdin in the dungeon, to die slowly over time, rather than making it quick. He couldn't put this idea past the sorcerer, and now that he thought about it, he was rather surprised that Jafar hadn't thought of it either.

But then the door cracked open, and he looked up in dreaded interest to see Razoul's figure silhouetted in the doorway. Aladdin had fully expected to see him, but did not expect Razoul to remove his sword from his belt and swiftly cut through the ropes still tying Aladdin's wrists together, let alone expect the words to come out of his mouth: "They want to talk to you."

As far as Aladdin was aware, Jafar nor Razoul were ones for delivering big speeches right before an execution. "They?" he questioned, mentally holding his breath.

"Jafar and Jasmine, who else?"

The walk to the dining room could not go by slowly enough for Aladdin, a small hope in his heart that despite Jasmine's words of the previous evening, that perhaps she had managed to do something for him, for her love to come through for him in the end. He knew it was there somewhere, all he had to do was gain her trust once more, something he knew that would happen as soon as Jasmine would give him a chance, once she was out from under Jafar's spell. This 'talk' with them, no matter the meaning, only went to prove the theory that Aladdin had been going over in his head since Jasmine had stormed out of the throne room – that she'd only said those things to show submission to the jackal, because he was certain that if it had only been the two of them in the room, she would've tried to smuggle him to safety.

And now both sat at the table, Jafar at the head and Jasmine as his right-hand woman, both with exhausted eyes that made Aladdin wonder if they had had as little sleep as himself. But while Jafar's face still appeared to be simmering with dark anger, Jasmine's face seemed to be far lighter than that it had been the previous night, even if the small smile she offered to Aladdin as he sat down appeared to be sad.

Aladdin slowly sat down beside her, looking carefully at Jasmine but with his words directed to Jafar. "Am I...?"

"I'm not executing you... not today, at least," Jafar muttered, bringing further hope that Jasmine had influenced the decision after all, especially with the look that she shot him, before turning towards Aladdin, her eyes gentle but the smile still hauntingly sad.

"Aladdin, I'm pregnant, again."

In contrast to the same news that Jafar had given Aladdin regarding Aziza, Aladdin felt his eyes light up for his true love, even if this baby too, would be the spawn of the devil. "That's wonderful!" he replied, genuinely happy for her, and wondering if Jafar was pleased at all about it himself, considering the darker look that had crossed his face at his exclamation. "Aziza will have a sibling to play with; there'll be two of them to follow me around - "

"Boy, you've already corrupted one of my children; you would not be around the second even if you could be."

Aladdin felt his mouth hang open at Jafar's interruption, too surprised to notice the pleading look Jasmine had given her husband. "_I've_ corrupted her?" he asked, disbelievingly, before frowning. "What do you mean, if I could be?"

Jasmine sighed, and after quickly shooting Jafar a warning look, glanced at Aladdin before finding the table very interesting. "Aladdin... we – meaning myself, Jafar and Aziza – are moving to London. Permanently. In one week's time. We've already started to pack and ship some of our things."

She had said this in a rush, but Aladdin could only stare at her, having taken in every last, cruel word.

*

It was on his walk through Agrabah, quickly moving through the crowds towards a rarely-trodden area of the city, that Aladdin reflected on the news.

Their move made sense in a way, he supposed – upon learning that she was pregnant again, Jasmine had realised that she didn't want to raise her second child in Agrabah, or anywhere near Arabia for that matter; Aziza's disappearance yesterday had only cemented this belief in her (and no, it was not about him, she told him; they would still be leaving even if Aziza hadn't gone missing). Jasmine had revealed to him that they owned a house in London, and she had dreamt of raising Aziza there – now, with their second child, she had the chance to do so.

It had taken Jafar some time to come around and agreeing with her idea, especially after the years of wanting to become ruler of Agrabah, and now that he was, to throw it all away for family life in the country. But, in ways that Jasmine had decided to keep between her and her husband, he had finally come around to the idea, not willing to "ruin another chance", as she'd carefully put it, and Aladdin had decided not to pry. Instead, full ruling of the city would return to the Sultan, whom they'd told nearly immediately after agreeing on the idea, and it was up to Aladdin as to whether he stayed in the palace or returned to the city streets – they wouldn't be there to decide for him.

Yes, it made sense – Jasmine wanted the family life for her young children, and Jafar, for bizarre reasons unbeknown to Aladdin, was willing to go along with it. But this was all that Aladdin could believe of it, and he couldn't help but think that he'd rather have been executed than hearing this news. At least if he were dead, he would have no memory of Jasmine – alive and her gone away from him forever, he would always wonder about her, wonder if she was safe, wonder for how much longer Jasmine might be trapped underneath Jafar's spell for, without anyone there to rescue her, like himself.

Aladdin could not comprehend this move to be in any way, Jasmine's idea, or if it was, he firmly believed that Jafar had planted the idea in her mind, through his damn hypnotic snake staff. Her going away with her husband for one year was one thing; going away with him forever was another story, a story that he could not believe Jasmine would go along with willingly.

And he couldn't imagine Jasmine ever wanting to leave him, not after successfully stopping Jafar from executing him. It would've been all for nothing if Jasmine left.

With that in mind, he stopped outside a run-down stall, before slipping underneath the curtains that was wrapped around it, coming face to face with a toothless old man, who smiled a dangerous and sick smile at him under a large turban.

"What can I do you for, young man?"

Aladdin faltered for a moment, hearing the bustle of several streets over, outside the stall. He could walk away now, he knew, and leave Aziza with her mother intact, allowing the three of them to travel on to a new life in London. But Aladdin wasn't sure that he could live with himself if this did happen, and his honour forced him to want to save Jasmine from herself before no one else was able to, even if it meant death.

"I need your most lethal, but undetectable, potion, please."

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_TBC_


	27. Sleep

**An Agreement's Small Print**

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**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Through the feverish dreams, he could hear them calling. Their voices were high on the wind, sometimes clear and sometimes distorted by his own mind, but Jafar was able to pick those voices anywhere, bright feminine voices, one from the past and one from the present.

_Open your eyes._

Jafar obeyed the strange order, an order that he seemed to have given himself, rather than one that the voices had requested. It was difficult to do so; the sweat from the heat radiating in his body pooled into his eyes, and wiping his hand over his face did nothing to force it away. So he squinted ahead of him, at the two women seemingly dancing across the endless stretch of sand, only just making them out through the salty water of sweat and tears.

Leila and Jasmine pranced ahead of him, barely taking notice of the physical struggle of their lover behind them, their bodies flung lightly through the dark summer air like ragdolls, only to land gracefully on their feet again. Only occasionally would they look back towards him, with a seductive smile or a winking eye, before taking off again. But their voices would continue to carry back towards him.

"Hurry up!" one would call, then the other, and lost in confusion, Jafar was unable to pick out who was speaking when. "You have to come see this!"

Jafar looked cautiously behind him, vaguely wondering if they were speaking to someone else, but it appeared that there were only the three of them out in the desert tonight. He looked back ahead of him, at his wives who had stopped momentarily, waiting for him.

Leila appeared to stamp her foot, but when it landed on the sand, Jafar realised that he could see straight through her skin. "Jafar, come _on_!" she whined, before they ran again, two desert flowers prancing through the air, towards the horizon.

Having no option but to follow, Jafar slowly walked behind them, hesitant but unable to go back to... where had they come from? He didn't care, but he just wanted to give and collapse where he stood, unable to stop the shaking in his body. He felt surprisingly weak, a feeling that he was not used to, and he knew it wasn't just the comparing of himself to the bright, young, energetic women ahead. No, this was a weakness that he wanted to hand himself over to, give himself to the darkness, but still, the girls called.

And then, on the horizon, they halted, and while Leila appeared to lean out to look over at something he couldn't see, Jasmine turned back towards him, her hand extended. Despite the seemingly miles of desert between them, Jafar reached out, and felt her fingers curve against his palm.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Leila asked, breaking him away out of his thoughts, and the three figures looked down over the sandy cliff that they stood on, towards the crashing black waves below them, waves that appeared to both entice them, and frighten them.

Or at least, frighten him.

"What is it?" Jafar heard himself asking, his voice just as distorted as theirs.

"Home," she replied simply, with such calmness that it spooked him. He continued to stare over the cliff's edge, and even in his confused mind, he understood what 'home' really was; at least, where Leila's home now was.

Oblivious to the horror on his face, Leila smiled brightly at him, and waved her fingers at him, fingers that blurred together, as if fanning him. "See you soon."

With that, she stepped off the edge, dropping down solidly like a stone, but making no splash as she hit the water, her body seemed to disappear before it did so.

It felt as if several minutes had passed before he could bring himself to look at Jasmine, who hadn't followed Leila into the water, but remained rooted to the spot, staring up at him. Jafar felt himself begin to break at the tear slipping down the side of her face, a face that if he looked at carefully, he could see the darkness of the sky through. It appeared that seeing her friend hurtle herself back to her home had killed her sense of joy, as both realised that Leila expected them to follow.

Jafar opened his mouth, while struggling to find the words to soothe his wife, but before he had a chance to speak, Jasmine reached up to his face, bringing him down to her height, to press her lips against his own. He closed his eyes automatically, his body searching for hers, but finding nothing to touch other than air – he could only taste cold whispers of ghosts on her lips, and not the spicy passion that he was used to, that would make him buckle and become completely hers.

He felt cool breath enter his lungs as she pulled away slightly, but kept his eyes closed as he felt her lips speak softly against him, the tears on her face stinging his skin acidly. "Don't leave me," Jasmine murmured.

And then she pulled him close as she stepped backwards, throwing both of their bodies over the edge, towards the waves below. It was only when he felt the water on his lips, escaping into his mouth and into his lungs, that Jafar opened his eyes and stared into the darkness.

But it was the darkness of their bedroom that he found himself in, rather than that of an ocean, and as Jafar comprehended this fact, he struggled to breath deeply, an attempt in to force the dream to leave him, and to attempt to calm down his temperature, as the sweat that had covered his face in the dream continued to cover it in reality.

Sitting up, he pressed a fist against one eye, as the world swam around him. He felt the same as he had when he'd gone to bed, feeling strangely unwell, the heat of summer seeming to take hold of his body in a way it never had before. It was the strangest sensation for him, for a man who so rarely ill – a day in which he'd felt absolutely fine before dinner, when afterwards, he'd simply wanted sleep to take over the extreme heat, to wake up and find himself alright again.

But now Jafar had woken in the middle of the night, and he felt no better. If anything, he felt worse.

Shakily, he glanced down towards his wife, curled on her side facing him, one small hand clutching her pillow, her soft lips parted slightly in normal breathing. Unable to stop the dream replaying in his mind, Jafar bent down slowly and pressed his lips against hers, as she had done to him, and closed his eyes once more, the taste of her bringing some calmness to his mind, but doing little to soothe the fears the dream had brought.

Jafar continued to kiss her lightly until he felt her eyelashes flutter against his face, and her lips began to respond to him. But as she brought one hand to the back of his neck, Jasmine pulled away, staring up at him in surprise.

"Jafar... you're still warm," she whispered, bring her hand around to his face, pressing it against his forehead.

He nearly collapsed at the cool skin against his blazing skin, but willed himself to keep his eyes open, moving slowly to rise above her, Jasmine falling against the pillows on her back as he did so. "You need your sleep," she continued, but made no move to push him back down.

"I need you," he murmured, before pulling off her hand from his face and kissing her palm. Silently, staring down into her eyes, he took one of her slender fingers and brought it to his mouth, biting the tip of it gently.

The sensation of his teeth against her skin was all that it took for her to become completely his, and the soft whimper that escaped her and the involuntary arch of her back was all it took for him to become completely hers.

*

"Mamma! Look!"

Jasmine looked up from the water's edge at the fountain, in which she'd been studying her reflection, almost having forgotten Aziza nearby. What she saw, at Aziza's pointing, made her heart stop, the concern for her ill husband – who had woken up in the morning no better than when he'd gone to bed, but had stubbornly refused to stay put and had gone away to lock himself in his tower without a word – overtaken by the confusion she felt now.

For the first time since Jafar had taken over Agrabah, the palace had been returned to its normal state of pale colour – the whites and golds returning over the reds and blacks, restoring the palace to its full glory.

"It's pretty, isn't it?"

"It sure is, sweetheart..." Jasmine replied slowly, the words coming out of her mouth automatically, the mother in her not wanting her daughter to know that anything was wrong. But she frowned as she studied the palace, almost willing it to return to red, only for nothing to change back. She knew the palace was to return to these colours later in the week – but only when her father was to officially take Jafar's duties. Which wasn't today.

*

The uneasiness in Jasmine did not disappear over the course of the day, as the palace stubbornly remained white and gold. Her emotions were not returned to normal themselves, as the amount of time grew longer in which her husband failed to appear, and she knew that in his current health, staying up in a hot, enclosed tower was probably not the best thing for him to be doing for hours on end.

Jasmine held a small hope, however, in the knowledge that Jafar would be there for dinner, but that hope was crushed when she and Aziza arrived in the dining room, to find everyone but him present.

"Where's Jafar?" she asked cautiously, still wanting to hide any problems from Aziza, who scrambled up onto her chair and frowned at the sight of her father's empty one.

"I'm not sure, dearest," the Sultan replied, watching the expression on his daughter's face quickly turn from hope to fear, with heaviness in his heart directed to the boy that sat next to him, a boy who seemed unconcerned by the sorcerer's absence. "No one's seen him all afternoon."

"I'm hungry, Mamma," Aziza whined. "Where's Daddy?"

"I don't know..."

Jasmine gently placed her hand on her daughter's head, before kissing her forehead. "I'll find him; you wait here."

With quick steps, she walked from the room towards Jafar's tower, gently tugging on the lantern's cord to gain access. The heat was nearly unbearable in the stairwell, and Jasmine bit her lip lightly as she realised that Jafar had spent the entire day up here, in a feverish state, in an overly hot room. And upon opening the door, she collided with Iago, who quickly pushed himself away from her face to sit on her shoulder.

"About time!" Iago squawked, and despite his sarcastic attitude, Jasmine could hear the uneasiness in her mind, reflected in his voice. "I've been banging against the damn door all day; not one person could hear me!"

"Why didn't Jafar let you out?" she asked, knowing that Jafar had boarded up the windows several days earlier, stopping every last ounce of sunlight reaching the room.

"He's been acting weird."

Despite herself, Jasmine felt a smile creep up onto her face. "That's nothing new, Iago."

"Really weird," he insisted, before flying down and making himself comfortable on a nearby trunk, kicking one foot out towards the ground.

Then she looked down, and at the sight of Jafar's feet lying motionless from behind the trunk, she felt her smile slip away, the fear beginning to grab a hold of her heart once more. "Jafar?" she questioned, walking towards him and around the corner. "Jafar, I – "

Her voice caught in her throat as she dropped to her knees beside her husband, who lay in an uncomfortable position across the warm stone floor. At the sight of the dried blood covering the side of his face that pressed against the ground, she tore off his turban, and in doing so, shivered at the feeling of the cold skin against her hand.

For anyone, let alone one with a fever, Jasmine knew that human skin should not be so cold.

"He was his usual deranged self 'till 'bout lunch," she heard Iago pipe up beside her, his voice nervous. "Then he looked 'kinda sleepy and fell down. I tried pecking at him and shouting in his ear, but he won't wake up."

Jasmine brushed her hand against his neck, feeling her mind growing too numb to register the lack of sensation there.

"He's not sleeping, Iago," she murmured, a small part of herself that was still alive surprised that she was managing to keep her voice so calm, as if someone else had stepped into her mind and was controlling it for her. "Please get my father."

Without question, Iago took off and flew out of the room, leaving Jasmine to sit numbly beside her husband, her hand pressed against his neck, as if hoping to jump-start him.

This was how the Sultan found her minutes later, but with quiet tears running down her face, tears that he knew by his own experience, she might not even realise where there. At the sight of the sorcerer, and the casualness of Aladdin, still sitting at the dining table with the Princess, and memory of the quick flick of the boy's hand over the sorcerer's glass the night before, a flick he had believed he had imagined, the Sultan had answers instantly, no matter how horrible those answers were.

But now was not the time.

Carefully, he placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder, knowing that there was nothing for him to say.

And even if there was anything for him to say, there would've been no need to say it, for it only took the gentle touch to smash Jasmine's silence into pieces, by the tortured, destructive scream that burst out of her mouth and her heart.

_

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_TBC_


	28. Diamonds

**An Agreement's Small Print**

_A/N: Jafar's dead. Feel free to scream at Aladdin all you like in the reviews._

_One more chapter after this, the epilogue, coming out very shortly (I'm not as cruel as to just kill Jafar and leave the story at that). _

_Sakura, glad you're enjoying the story. We can hope that maybe one day Disney brings out a villain-happy ending... probably not. Ah well, that's what we've got fan-fiction for!_

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**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

When the Sultana had passed away, it had taken the Sultan three months to coax himself out of his depressed stupor, his mind trapped in circles of grief and pain. The circles appeared to have no end, and he had had no thought to anyone else other than his wife, no thought towards the baby daughter that cried for her remaining parent, let alone the rest of Agrabah that waited for their leader to return.

But to his surprise, when he did come around again, believing that life had to go on, he found his city exactly as he'd left it, if not a little sombre. Bewildered, he had come out to find that his royal vizier, despite only having been in his role for less than a year, had decided to look after the city for him, rather than allow it to collapse the way he would've expected it to. The Sultan had thanked him, the young man that he still barely knew, one that the Sultan knew was the only one who would understood how it felt to have his wife pass on, but one that appeared to have no desire to share any emotions regarding that at all.

And Jafar, lost as to why the Sultan was thanking him for doing his job, had bowed stiffly and walked away, ignoring the little one that watched him.

Now it was the Sultan's turn to trade off, to return to being the ruler of Agrabah, something he had already agreed to when Jafar and Jasmine had told him that they were leaving, but something that had now been flung onto him sooner, something he was going to have to take over immediately.

And something that was going to have wait until tomorrow, the Sultan knew with sorrow in his heart, as he sat at his daughter's bedside, watching his dearest sleep. He was grateful that for the most part, it seemed to be an untroubled sleep – the doctor that had been called up to Jafar's body had given Jasmine a heavy drug to calm her down, to quieten the screams, to send her off in a dreamless sleep. But the Sultan wondered if her sleep was completely calm, as he gently brushed away tears that pooled up under her lashes, little sparkles of pain desperate to escape.

If the Sultan was honest to himself, he wasn't entirely upset about Jafar's death in itself – the man had made the last several years miserable enough for him as it was, let alone for his killer. And if Jafar's death wasn't going to directly destroy anyone else's life in the process, the Sultan might've been able to turn a blind eye to Aladdin's antics, whom he was sure was behind this. But he dreaded his daughter waking up, dreaded having to tell his granddaughter in the morning, a little girl whom seemed to have an idea that something was terribly wrong with her parents, but had gone to bed with little convincing.

But as for Jasmine... the Sultan was haunted of the image his daughter had presented when she'd come out from under Jafar's hypnotism, a broken woman who had just been slapped with the full extent of the decision she'd made. But she'd coped then; the Sultan could only pray that she would cope as well now, when she woke in the morning and her reality would come crashing down on top of her.

Though having been in her position himself, the Sultan knew that this was unlikely, that she would still be the devastated mess that she'd gone to sleep as.

He watched as she turned over now, her long hair falling over her body messily, as she flung one arm out over the cold space beside her, her fingers scrunching the sheets. He watched as her hand held the material tightly for several seconds, before her fingers slowly flexed out, allowing the sheets to collapse against the mattress in defeat, and he closed his eyes as she murmured the sorcerer's name, in a voice that seemed far away and sleepy but strangled and hoarse.

To his relief, he heard the door to the bedroom open slightly, the sound a welcome disrupt to his struggle between reassuring his daughter and having to wake her up in her pain, or allowing her to sleep. The doctor glanced into the room and silently motioned for him to meet in the corridor, and the Sultan slowly went to him, not wanting to leave Jasmine but aware that there was nothing he could do for her right now.

"What happened to him?" the Sultan asked, already knowing what had done Jafar in, but wondering how the doctor was going to approach it, how anyone outside the family was going to approach it.

The doctor sighed. "Officially, a bad heart, it gave out on him."

"His heart?" The Sultan frowned. This was a man whom, for as long as the Sultan had known him, had never been ill until the previous day. "He's only forty-six; the man's never been sick..."

"I said, _officially._"

The pair studied each other for a short time, the words hanging in the air above them as a dark cloud, before the doctor went to turn away. "We both know what, or rather, who, really did it. I think you'll find that you'll have fewer questions if you tell the city otherwise."

With that, he walked away, leaving the Sultan to his silent thoughts alone. Taking a step back, he could see Jasmine still flung out over her bed, lost in traumatic dreams, and beside the bedroom, the closed door to Aziza's room, a child whom the Sultan was sure would be full of uncomfortable questions in the morning. Questions that he would have to answer, with the official story.

*

"Aladdin."

The confused boy turned at the Sultan's voice, a voice that was without its usual childlike quality. Aladdin turned away in his search for the girls, and began to follow the Sultan out into the courtyard.

Admittedly, he was beginning to wonder when the Sultan was going to speak to him – it had been five days now, and each time the Sultan had passed him in the palace, Aladdin was given the distinct impression that somehow he knew what the boy had done, despite his care in spiking Jafar's wine. But not once had the Sultan said anything to him, and if he hadn't seen the tinge of disapproval in the older man's eyes, Aladdin would almost think that the Sultan was allowing him to get away with it.

But this combined with the fact that despite his best searching, that he had not been able to see Jasmine or Aziza since Jafar's death, made Aladdin feel uneasy. From reports that filtered down through the various servants of the palace, Aziza was a mess at the news of her father, and stubbornly refused to leave her mother's side, a woman who was holding it together long enough for her daughter, but would then take the drug to free her mind in able to sleep.

Aladdin knew, if he could just speak to them, that he would be able to calm them down; despite his respect for the Sultan, he seemed to be able to do nothing to bring the girls around to a state of sanity. He knew that if he could speak to Jasmine that he would be able to calm her down, to bring her around to realising that the one that truly loved her was still here. He simply had to wait until whatever powers Jafar had held over her for so many years subsided, but this was becoming something easier said than done.

And so, he looked at the Sultan with a confident mind, waiting for the news that Jasmine had been set free, that he would be able to marry his long-lost love like they'd once planned. And so, the Sultan's words were a mind-numbing blow to the boy: "Aladdin, I think it's best that you return to the city."

Aladdin looked at him, hurt to a measure he didn't understand, at the serious look on the Sultan's face. "I don't think... I don't understand..."

"I understand that you murdered my daughter's husband."

Aladdin slowly sat down next to the old man, not in sadness of hearing what he'd done in such a gentle, tired voice, but in simple, sheer confusion. "I couldn't let him drag her away like that," he replied hoarsely, feeling that this conversation was not able to go in the direction that he believed it would. "Surely you feel the same; you couldn't just watch her go away forever with _him_."

The Sultan sighed. "Of course it's hard watching my child leave... but I'm not about to murder the one she loves to force her to stay."

The cold laughter erupted from Aladdin before he had the chance to stop it, or at least reign it in; the laughter in sharp contrast to the fine warm day around them. "What love?" he questioned, amused. "I'm the one she loves truly, not with the weird, strange lust Jafar held over – "

"Aladdin! For Allah's sake boy, she loved him! The way you loved her; he never did anything to force it!"

Aladdin fell quiet at the Sultan's uncharacteristic outburst, desperately trying not to believe him but not being able to deny the hard truths in the voice. "He only held her under hypnosis long enough to marry him," he heard the man's voice flow into his mind. "She's been free to leave him ever since then; she stayed with him on her own accord."

"She never said anything," Aladdin heard himself mumble, overtaken by the exasperated sigh of the Sultan.

"She's been telling you for years, my boy; both she and I," the Sultan replied, a little calmer now, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "That's why she's always been asking you to go, to spare you the pain of her loving Jafar. His death hasn't changed anything... she doesn't love you, Aladdin, not in the way you love her. She hasn't for years."

Aladdin found himself staying the ripples in the fountain's water, unable and unwilling to comprehend his thoughts long enough to respond. The small voice in the back of his mind told him that this wasn't news, yet still...

"Well, at least she's not leaving now."

The boy frowned at the hesitant swallow in the Sultan's throat. "Aladdin, she's still leaving. She and Aziza leave for London tonight, as planned."

His eyes snapped up from the water. "But they... they can't go alone... not so soon..."

"Razoul's offered to travel with them, to take them as far as their friends in London." The Sultan paused for a moment, watching the blow hit the boy's face, then sighed and stood slowly, to return to help his daughter pack the few remaining things. "Like I said, his death hasn't changed anything."

Though his mind wanted him to sprint to Jasmine's side, to beg her to stay like a child, Aladdin found himself rooted to the bench around the fountain. "I need to speak to her."

"I don't think that's a good idea," the Sultan replied slowly, turning away from him. "She doesn't know what you've done, but you'll go ahead and make things worse than they already are.

"I hope you're happy now."

*

The first of the stars had come out over the desert as Jasmine rode alone across the sand. She'd promised her father that she wouldn't travel too far out, as she had to return shortly in able to have enough time to meet the ship with Razoul and Aziza, but she had to do this now. For him.

The wind was only just strong enough, strong enough for what she needed it for but not so much that she'd need to wrestle with her horse at the same time. Carefully, she pulled her horse up to a standstill, using both hands to balance the urn in front of her, and she gently turned the lid, making sure that none of the ashes escaped before their time.

To her relief, the wind kept her tears at bay, drying them as quickly as they escaped from her eyes.

For a moment, all was still as she waited for the wind to turn, to push behind her, rippling her high ponytail over her shoulder. Her horse whined softly as the wind hit him from behind, but she leaned forward and pressed her hand against the horse's face in comfort, silently asking for him to stay put.

Calmly, Jasmine removed the lid to the urn, and dipped her hand into Jafar's ashes, clutching what she could in a closed fist. Finger by finger, she uncurled the fist until her hand was open, allowing the wind around her to pluck the ashes for itself, carrying it across the desert fiercely, the flow of air dancing with the tiny specks of dark grey.

After the first fistful had faded away, Jasmine proceeded to empty out the urn this way, as per Jafar's instructions to her several years ago when they had stumbled onto the morbid topic of death, and despite herself, she felt a smile creep on her face as she remembered what he said about their religion's traditional burial:

"_You can't be cremated!" she'd argued, amazed that they were even having this discussion in the first place. "Jafar, you're scaring me – be serious."_

"_I am being serious," he replied, and despite his tone, Jasmine found it difficult to believe him, this usual proper man flying in the face of everything taught to them. "I refuse to be put on display for imaginary well-wishers, and I refuse to be buried in the middle of the desert where some rabid creature will eventually dig up my bones for food."_

"_I'd bury you in the palace grounds, not in the sand!"_

_But Jafar had waved a hand at her, ignoring her protests. "Besides, no-one's going to argue with me when I'm dead, are they?"_

_With that, she'd given up fighting what seemed to be a pointless argument._

But the man always managed to get what he wanted, Jasmine thought, as the last of his ashes were taken by the wind, enter twining with the dark sand and sky, the lightest of the ashes slowly forming his own diamond star.

_

* * *

_

_TBC_


	29. Home

**An Agreement's Small Print**

**

* * *

**

**Epilogue**

It was ironic that it was only after their Queen had left the city that Agrabah received the male heir they had waited for so long for.

Prince Jafar was born on the final day of the year, in the middle of the night, with Elsa at Jasmine's side and the Sultan nearby, having made the trip to London for the birth. The Sultan had been surprised by his daughter's choice of name, with children being given their parent's name being unheard of in Agrabah, but Elsa had shrugged this away, suggesting that if it helped the still grieving woman, that maybe it wasn't altogether a bad thing.

And Elsa and Harun watched their friend grieve, and it was only until her son's birth did Jasmine begin to smile, at the smallest things, at her children – her son's face, a face that everyone could see would eventually mirror his father's, when he woke up, his expression changing from one of tiredness to recognition at seeing his mother leaning over his crib; at her daughter's delight of discovering snow, or the rolling countryside that she could play in rather than being trapped inside a palace, at the towering army of snowmen that she and Frederick had a habit of building.

The Sultan, during his stay, had suggested that at one point, perhaps the citizens of Agrabah would like to see their prince, but he hadn't finished speaking before Jasmine was shaking her head, with no wish to return to the desert city with the children.

But while she had no wish to return, Jasmine was reminded on nearly a daily basis of Agrabah, again, by the smallest things, such as having to teach Aziza English, who had until the move spoken nearly entirely in Arabic, except for the few phrases Jafar had taught her when they'd decided to move. And even in attempting to speak in two languages, Aziza still had the knack for asking uncomfortable questions, now almost always aimed at Jasmine.

"Mother?" she asked one winter's day, having lost the tendency to refer to her as 'Mamma' when her baby brother was born.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

Aziza had tugged on her lip briefly, watching her mother carefully, before asking her question: "When is Uncle Al coming?"

Jasmine had stared at her daughter for a moment, her mind not at first making the connection to her daughter's innocent question, before swallowing tightly and crouching down in front of her, smoothing Aziza's hair back. "He's not coming."

"Why?"

"He doesn't want to come to London."

In all honesty, Jasmine wondered herself about Aladdin, her old friend, whom she hadn't seen since Jafar's death. He had not made the trip to London, and when she asked her father about him, he had sighed.

"He's still in the palace... he hasn't changed, dearest," the Sultan replied, and Jasmine detected a hint of sorrow in his voice. "Jasmine, he – "

The Sultan hesitated. While travelling to London, he had gone around in circles wondering if he ought to tell his daughter the truth about her husband's death – he could only put himself in the situation that if he'd been lied to somehow about the Sultana's death, whether he would want to know the truth, and the answer to himself was a resounding yes.

But when he ran the idea by Elsa, she advised that maybe, just maybe, it would be best for Jasmine to carry on believing the lie.

"This is what it's going to sound like to her," Elsa said gently, putting the Sultan's hand. "Her best friend murdered her husband to force her to stay behind in Agrabah with him... she's only just coping, Wadi; this might make things worse for her." Then she frowned, "Jafar and Aladdin didn't get along very well now, did they?"

The Sultan thought that this was the underestimation of the year. "Jafar was a rather difficult person for anyone to get along with."

"Quite true," Elsa sighed. "Perhaps... perhaps in a few years time, you can tell her. Maybe Aladdin can tell her himself, eventually."

Eventually. The Sultan rather liked this idea, but at this point, he still didn't trust Aladdin enough not to jump on her daughter to push a marriage proposal down her throat, and as Jasmine had no desire to return home, he found himself in a stalemate. But based upon his conversation with Elsa, he couldn't bring himself to tell his daughter the truth, especially on the days where the smallest and strangest thing seemed to set Jasmine into tears, bewildering her children, such as too long a stare towards the forest at the back of the house.

*

At night, Jasmine was having little success in moving Aziza to her own bedroom – since Jafar's death, she had stubbornly refused to sleep on her own, and it had taken several weeks for her to pry the truth out of her daughter, who had finally admitted in a small voice: "I don't want you to leave me, too."

"I'm not going anywhere," Jasmine murmured quietly, with sadness in her voice, sadness that she knew was not for Aziza; she had realised that if it weren't for the children, she would've willingly followed Jafar into the afterlife, a thought that both terrified and depressed her.

And so, despite the number of bedrooms in the house, Jasmine and the children slept in the master bedroom, her and her daughter in the bed, and her baby son in his crib beside them. And sometimes, Jasmine was certain there was a fourth presence with them.

The fourth presence came almost every night, often waking Jasmine from her sleep, and for the first few nights she wondered if she'd been dreaming of him, or if she was simply losing her mind. But when she would wake up and still feel him, speaking his name only to hear no response, the idea of losing her mind came as both a frightening and reassuring idea.

It had started small – the feeling of his hand brushing her hair back from her face, the kiss against her ear with his beard scratching her neck gently. Each time she felt him, Jasmine would turn to face the direction that she could swear she had felt him, only to see nothing, each time.

And then there was the night that Jasmine could've sworn she felt him buried deep inside her, for every action and ache of her body was identical to that when it had been a reality, her muscles moving and allowing him in, tightening around him, but he didn't seem to be there physically, even when she felt a firm but cool hand close over her mouth as she climaxed, to keep her screams from waking the children.

Only days later, she learnt that waking at least Aziza was no longer a problem, when Jasmine had caught her walking towards her own bedroom one evening rather than the master bedroom. "Aziza, where are you going?" she questioned, her voice unsure, not wanting to lead Aziza off the idea.

"I have to sleep in my own bed, Father said so," she replied, the easiness of her response startling Jasmine briefly.

"What do you mean, 'Father said so'?"

"He said so this morning, he woke me up," Aziza said brightly, unseeing the haunted expression on her mother's face. "He was at the edge of the bed and told me that I'm a big girl, and that I have to sleep by myself now, and to not wake you up right now, because you were sleeping."

"... and you could see him?"

Aziza nodded. "Yeah, he was wearing his cloak and everything. Good night, Mother." And with a kiss on her mother's cheek, she was sleeping soundly in her own bedroom.

Sleeping soundly was not on Jasmine's cards that night, who cursed her husband as loudly as she could without waking her baby, for appearing in the flesh and speaking to her daughter, yet only being nothing more than feather touches towards her. And then she had been silenced by the firm arms wrapping around her waist, and the kiss against her neck, and while she still couldn't see him, for the first time, she heard his voice. "I'm sorry."

When Elsa noticed that Jasmine didn't appear to be sleeping much, Jasmine felt that she had little choice than to tell her friend the truth. "Jafar keeps visiting," she explained, realising how unbelievably stupid she sounded.

"Honey, he's dead," Elsa reminded Jasmine gently. "The dead don't come back."

"I swear he is," she replied, her voice insistent. "Aziza saw him, he told her to sleep by herself, and she's doing that now."

"Jasmine, I know it's hard, but – ouch!" Elsa glared towards the space from where she felt the kick on her ankle, blinking slowly when she realised that she was looking at nothing. But she could feel it, could feel the air warp very slightly around a tall figure, a figure that looked suspiciously like Jafar...

"Are you alright?"

Elsa looked back at Jasmine, who looked at her curiously. "I'm fine," she mumbled, still watching the strange... ghost of sorts, who had appeared to stroll out of the dining room with ease and disappearing out of sight.

*

_Hurry up woman, I haven't got all night!_

Jasmine's eyes snapped open at Jafar's voice shouting in her head, disrupting her from a dreamless sleep. Surprised, she looked around the dark room hopefully, but everything was where it should be, including the little one in his crib, and Jasmine felt somewhat cheated when she didn't see the physical figure of her husband as Aziza had seen.

But his voice was different this time, an echo in her head rather than speaking beside her, and nervously, she threw the covers off of herself.

"Jafar...?"

There was nothing in response for several moments, until:

_Come out the back, he won't wake up_

With that, and certain that wherever he really was, that he was telling the truth about their baby, Jasmine left the bedroom in nothing other than her nightdress, despite the fact that he advised her to come outside in the snow in the middle of the night.

Nervously, she made her way down the corridor and down the stairs to the lower floor, walking slowly towards the back glass doors, where she paused for a moment, attempting to look outside through the fog. When she couldn't see anyone through the snow, Jasmine bit her lip so she wouldn't start to cry. The man was as cruel in death as he was in life.

But as she turned away, she saw the dark figure materialise seemingly out of nowhere, a dark figure she recognised all too well, a figure that slowly raised his hand and beckoned her towards him.

Giving him no chance to disappear, Jasmine was out the door and bolting across the snow towards him, ignoring the burn of ice on her bare feet and the freezing wind whipping around her nightdress, only to come slowly to a stop mere steps in front of him, when she realised that while this vision of Jafar appeared identical to the man that had left her, she could see through him, as though part of him had been left behind from where he had came from.

"Are you..." she whispered quietly, her voice hardly higher than the wind, her courage lost now that she seemed to have Jafar back in front of her. "Are you real? Or am I dreaming you?"

Jafar didn't answer her, only staring at her with a neutral expression, but suddenly closed the small gap between them, and before Jasmine could think about the bizarre situation clearly, his warm hands were on either side of her face and his lips on her own, kissing her with desperate passion that she eagerly returned. She allowed her hands to come up behind his neck, reaching up on her toes towards him to close their height difference, pressing her body up against his seemingly-stable body for the heat to warm her bones.

And too soon, he pulled away, even if it was just long enough to kiss her forehead. "Does it matter?" he murmured.

"Not... not really," she murmured back, still wanting to know but almost afraid of the answer, but for now, being able to see and feel him was good enough for her. "How are you here?"

"Unfinished business," came the easy reply, as he took her hand tightly in his and started to almost drag her across the snow to their forest, with little concern for the ice burning her feet.

"Where are we going?" she called behind him, the old familiar feeling of energy coursing through her muscles, a feeling that only double in strength and electrified around her body as he looked back at her, his eyes darkening.

"The forest... we haven't got long, and he'll wake soon. Coming?"

Jasmine stared at him, her only problem being that she had to wait until they reached the forest, rather than just collapse together in the middle of the open snow. But it didn't truly matter where they were going, or what they would do when they arrived there, though with the wicked smile crossing Jafar's face, a wicked smile that only she had ever seen, she knew exactly what would happen when they got there. All that mattered was that he was standing in front of her, real or imaginary, and that she would follow him to the ends of the earth, as she knew that he'd always done for her.

"Absolutely."

_Fin_

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_A/N: And that, kids, concludes An Agreement's Small Print, which has finished in a way I didn't actually set out to write, but hopefully is a happier ending for you all (so much for an epilogue – this epilogue wound up being twice as long as I intended, without this note)._

_This story's a bit of a milestone for me, having never finished a multi-chapter fan-fic, let alone one that's over 70K words long. This story originally wasn't supposed to be anywhere near this long – I simply set out to attempt to write a story in which a) Jasmine got forced into marrying Jafar but instead of attempting to run away back to Aladdin as in most stories I've read, she would realise that perhaps, being married to him could bring advantages and b) they fall in love without Jasmine being under hypnosis the entire time or Jafar collapsing into a pile of romantic sappy mush (ie, Aladdin) – in other words, keeping them in character. Considering all your lovely, positive reviewers, it appears that I've managed to pull this off in some small way._

_Thanks all to you wonderful readers and especially those who take the time to leave your two cents on this story; it's been really appreciated the whole way through. Also thanks to a long-suffering boyfriend who worked out at about chapter 18 that I've neglected him in real life to write this, and yet, is going as Jafar for Halloween this year on my request, so that I can be his Jasmine (I have a sneaking suspicion that he might be reading this story, so I'll throw my own two cents in for him)._

_Finally, I'm beginning to see a __**sequel **__taking hold for this story, after I've gone ahead and re-edited this one, answering questions such as how and why Jafar is back, what his unfinished business is (take a guess), will Jasmine finally be told about the truth behind his death and most importantly, will Aladdin finally get the royal ass-kicking he deserves? No title as yet, so stay tuned my pretties, and add me on to your author alert list if interested in reading the second part._

_But for now, hope you've enjoyed An Agreement's Small Print, and please leave me a little review in the little review box to let me know what you thought, and what you'd like to see in the sequel. The one right down there... _


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